Pro Bono
by Cheryl W
Summary: While working a case in the Hamptons, the Winchesters cross paths with 2 brothers running their own occasional pro bono, family business, proving that sometimes the best things in life are free.
1. Chapter 1

Pro Bono

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Royal Pains or Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: Cross over with Royal Pains (1st Season) and Supernatural (2nd Season.) While working a case in the Hamptons, the Winchesters cross paths with 2 brothers running their own sometimes pro bono family business, proving that sometimes the best things in life are free.

Author's Notes: Never thought I would be writing a Royal Pains story but brothers always get to me, as Dean and Sam are prime examples.

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Evan R. Lawson leaned against the bar waiting for his drink order, eyes scanning the boring all male crowd at the exclusive Men's Club event. But his head snapped left as a man a few years his junior ordered a purple nurple.

As if aware of the scrutiny, the tall dark haired man looked to Evan with an expression of embarrassment. "It's for my brother," he explained with a long suffering sigh.

"Least your brother has originally," Evan drawled as he tilted his head at the two on tap beers that the bartender sat before him.

Sam smiled, glad that there was at least someone in the crowd that wasn't an AARP card holder.

"I'm Evan Lawson," Evan greeted, not feeling like tagging on that he was the CFO of Hank Med, suddenly missed making a connection solely of his own.

"Sam."

And the two men shook hands.

"You new to the Hamptons?" Evan asked, wondered why he hadn't crossed path with the man before.

"No, just here visiting."

Evan nodded, remembered not to long ago being a mere visitor to the rich neighborhood. "So which member suckered you into attending?" because surely no one young would attend of their own free will. '_Or if there wasn't some hope of snagging some nice financial backers,_' he added on his own excuse for enduring the present almost on death's doorstep's members.

Sam forced himself to not shift, to meet the man's eyes head on as he lied. "Randal Wessman was my great grandfather."

Evan choked on his sip of his beer, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before he faced his companion, sporting a knowing smile. "Dude, you're what 7 foot?"

Always conscious of his height, Sam corrected with a bite, "6 foot 4."

Turning in his seat, Evan nodded across the room to a full length painting of a man of short stature. "That's your "great grand daddy"", he drawled, eyes twinkling as they met Sam's, " on his tip toes. No one in his blood line is over 4 foot 8 inches."

Sam felt stupid, like a very tall fool. '_I'm going to kill Dean. What kind of con man picks an African American police officer or a guy whose whole family is shorter than Napoleon to impersonate? My brother that's who!_'

Evan, noticing the man's blush, leaned closer and whispered, "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. I got into my first Hampton party posing as a far removed cousin of the host haling from Germany. If anyone asks who's your benefactor tonight, tell them it's my brother, Dr. Hank Lawson."

Surprised and warmed by the other man's understanding and assistance in a deception, Sam found himself liking his bar mate. "Mention your brother, not you?"

Offering up a sad smile, Evan admitted with rare frankness, "He's the favored son here, not me." '_And in our family too_,' he let unsaid but tacked on, "That is basically nothing new though." He knew which Lawson brother people deemed the screw up.

Sam understood that, had always felt Dean was John's favorite, in spite of what old yellow eyes had wanted Dean to believe. That Dean had always lived up to their father's expectations and he never had. '_Never would_,' a spike of grief washing over him at the reality that his dad was gone and there would be no more chances to earn his father's approval. Shaking his head, he returned his attention to Evan. "Older brother?" he hazarded a guess, but knew in his gut that the look in Evan's eyes was one trying to, not only live up to everyone else's expectations of him but his brother's. '_That's something I know about 100% too_. .

"Oh yeah, he's the older brother and he never lets me forget it," Evan readily pointed out.

"I know that feeling," Sam laughed but there was unabashed affection in his tone. How could there not be when Dean had taken care of him his whole life, was still the best thing he had in his life.

Evan raised his beer mug, "To older brothers," he toasted and Sam clanked his glass with Evan's.

Sam smiled at wondering how Dean would react if he knew he just did a toast to him, without any prompting by him. "Speaking of big brothers, I better get back to mine. Nice meeting you, Evan."

"Yeah. Maybe I'll see you at another party, hopefully one with a heartbeat," Evan said, earning him a smile from Sam before the he turned away and struggled to make his way across the room.

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Having sent Sam on an errand to get him a drink, Dean dropped his 'I'm fine' façade and leaned heavily against the nearest wall. Friggin' ache in his chest was increasing instead of decreasing as the night progressed. That old man ghost had nearly squeezed him to death, probably would have if Sam hadn't blasted him with rocksalt. Not spying his little brother in the crowd, he unobtrusively pressed his hand to his chest, willed the tightness to dissipate.

He startled when an unfamiliar but concerned male voice came from his left asked, "Are you alright?" Turning, he saw man in his mid thirties with curly short brown hair inspecting him with sharp eyes. Dropping his hand, he straightened from the wall and cockily assured, "Yeah. Just taking a breather from the stimulating company here."

Though the man's eyes remained concerned, his tone lightened. "Yeah, I understand. This is like the times I had to go along with my grandfather to meet some of his old cronies."

Dean gave a quick tilt of his head, honestly answered, "Wouldn't know about that?"

"Never got stuck doing that?"

"Never met my grandfather, either of them," Dean admitted, saw the other man give a solemn nod of his head. Uncertain why he had confessed that, he interjected, "I'm Dean."

"I'm Hank," the other man returned, putting his hand out.

As Hank shook hands with the younger but taller man, he noticed a white bandage coiled around the man's wrist peeking out from the cuff of the suit jacket. "Recent injury?" he prodded, hoping it sounded conversational.

Dean's eyebrows raised at the other man's perceptiveness. "Hazards of my job," he vaguely answered, was surprised the next second when the other man didn't let it stand there.

"And your job is?" Hank pressed, could tell by the paleness of the man's skin, the tempo of his breathing and the haze in his eyes that he was in pain.

"Security," Dean replied with a smile he didn't feel, especially under the pushy guy's probing gaze. "Well, see you around Hank," he concluded, walking by the man.

Instincts and compassion overriding polite courtesy, Hank grabbed the other man's arm, stopping his escape. He saw anger in the man's eyes as they clashed with his own and felt the arm under his hand tense, knew the man was a second away from putting him on his butt. "I'm a doctor and I know you're in pain," he announced bluntly, hoping to forestall a fist to his face.

Whatever guesses Dean had made to the man's motives, Hank's words discredited all of them.

"If you tell me what happened to you maybe I can help," Hank offered, judged the man before him as the type that would ignore all of his body's thousand warning signs, would be too tough to seek medical help until it was practically too late.

Dean felt he had been robbed of his barriers by a preppy do-good doctor, no less. Pulling his forearm from the doctor's surprisingly strong grip, he deflected, "Your spidey senses are wonky this time, Doc. I'm fine." Then he walked away, began to look for Sam in earnest because, he was so ready to get out of there, to call the fruitless fact finding trip a bust and get away from too perceptive, noisy strangers.

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Finally reaching Hank's side, Evan handed his brother his beer. "I met this guy at the bar. Seems we're NOT the youngest guys here after all. Funny enough, he's here with his older brother and," he dropped his voice and leaned over to speak in his brother's ear so the words wouldn't carry, "crashed this party." Then he pulled back, still spoke lowly, "At least we crashed an awesome party with scantily clad women, the best alcohol known to man and with a host that gave out complimentary gold bars."

Hank, having lost Dean in the crush of the room, gave his brother an intense look, "Where's this guy?" wondering if it would turn out to be Dean or his brother.

Scanning the crowd, Evan pointed to Sam, who was visible due to his height especially in the osteoporosisly stooped crowd. "There."

Visually following his brother's finger line of sight, Hank scowled. 'It's not Dean, must be his brother.' Searching the persons around the circumference of tall young man's position, he cursed as none of them turned out to be the young man he had met earlier.

Evan, easily picking up his brother's anxiousness and frustration, prodded, "What?"

Absently, Hank replied, "I think I met his brother."

"Guy waiting for a purple nurple?"

Hank's eyes swung to his brother's in confusion. "A what?"

"You know you really have led a sheltered life, bro," Evan chastised, watched as his brother's attention fled again, returned to an almost feverish search through the mingling seniors who were scattered across the club's reception rooms. "So this guy lift your wallet?"

Turning incredulous eyes on Evan, Hank sharply denied. "No!" But at Evan's staredown he qualified, "I think he's injured." Running a hand through his hair, he sighed. "I shouldn't have let him walk away."

Evan shrugged his shoulders. "His brother didn't seem concerned over him."

"Like he would let on he was hurt," Hank scoffed, "especially to a younger brother." Knew that he had his own issues with showing weakness to Evan and he would guess he wasn't even 5% as stubborn as Dean was.

Stepping into his brother's line of sight, Evan put a hand on his brother's chest, demanded Hank's full attention. "Yeah, he's the older brother. How in-depth did your conversation go with this guy? You get his astrological sign, his favorite movie and his batting average?"

"No, I just…" But Hank broke off, didn't know how to voice how it felt to know he had let someone down, had failed to follow his Hippocratic oath but more than that…had let himself down by not treating his patients as people. Of not helping someone that he knew in his heart needed help, his help.

"What?" Evan prompted, didn't understand the insecurity rolling off of his brother.

Rubbing his head, Hank faced Evan, admitted, "My gut is telling me that he was in pain, a lot of it. But I backed down, chickened out from pressing him about it. And when he walked away….I just watched him go, lost him in the crowd.

Troubled by the turmoil in his brother's eyes, by the self hatred, tremble in his brother's usually strong voice, Evan felt a determination flare in him, to take care of his brother because, for maybe the second time in his life, Hank needed him to. Putting on his 'in charge, calm' voice, he announced, "OK. His brother's still here so he's around here somewhere. We'll find him and, if I have to, I'll pin him to the floor while you do your whole doctor thing on him. And I'll even let you charge him our special friends-and-family rates."

Overwhelmingly glad for Evan's support and calm, determined strength, Hank couldn't help smiling, especially at the notion of his beanpole thin brother trying to pin the well toned, muscular, stubborn Dean down. "We're not charging him anything," he firmly stated as he started to move through the crowd, felt the reassuring presence of his brother at his back.

"Some day we're going to have to renegotiate the low scale charging rates for your services," Evan insisted, following on his brother's footsteps, remembered doing it a million times as a kid.

"Some day but not today. Ok, the guy looks a lot like his brother, dark hair, and complexion but a little shorter, more intense," Hank described even as his eyes continued to move across the club's patrons, searching, heart thudding in his chest as time continued to tock away without sight of Dean.

"He's younger than everyone else here but us. I got it," Evan blasé returned, knew that it wasn't like the guy could really blend in with the gathered group of old timers.

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Feeling flushed and like the air in the room was in too limited a supply, Dean pushed his way through the gathered men, stumbled as he headed for the door. Knew that, if he face planted, they would just write it off to having one drink too many and that would be more embarrassing then them knowing that he fainted. '_It would be pathetic if someone thought I couldn't hold my drink when these old geezers are guzzling down alcohol practically by hoses_,' he sardonically thought, putting one foot in front of the other, determined to make it outside.

Nearly tripping down the three terrace stairs, he found himself on a garden straight out of the lifestyles of the rich and famous. Pressing a hand hard against his chest, he bent over, tried to get the air to flow right through his lungs. But it wasn't working, not the cursing at his own failing body, no matter how far he bent over, no matter how shallow he tried to make each breath. Growing pain shafted through him making him feel like the ghost was back, was intent on finishing the job of squeezing the life out of him.

Desperate enough to know that he needed Sam, he pulled out his cell phone, hit the key for Sam's speed dial but before he could press the 'Call Sam' button, he collapsed to the ground. His cell bounced from his grip as he ungracefully crumpled to the highly overpriced landscaped grass. Grasping for breath with spots rimming his vision, he wondered how the rich and famous handled it when a guest expired on their premises, whether they called the police…or a private security firm to do away with the inconvenience of the body. '_This won't be the first time I've died…but it might be the last,_' he morbidly thought, prayed that Sam would be OK without him.

When someone dropped to their knees at his side, he believed that his thoughts of his brother had conjured Sam to him. Turning his head, he was disappointed and surprised to see, not his brother, but the do good Doctor hovering over him.

"Hey, stay with me," Hank gently implored, hand coiling around the side of Dean's neck as he began to catalogue the younger man's symptoms. Eyes holding Dean's pained, but surprisingly calm gaze, he asked, "Do you have pain in your chest?"

Dean gave a cut nod, not wasting his feeble breath on words. Then his hand was gently moved from his chest and laid on the grass. His shirt was then ripped open and he knew buttons were flying, marring the landscape. _'Dang Doc, you now how much that shirt cost me_?' Dean complained internally, glad to focus on something other than the fact that he was soon going to be unable to breath at all, would be dead before Sam even got back with his purple nurple.

Getting his first look at Dean's chest, Hank lowly cursed at the heavy bruising. Leaning down, he listened to the man's heart, hated what he heard…and didn't hear. Sitting back on his haunches, he ran his practiced fingers over Dean's ribs, found the deformity quickly. Eyes raising to Dean's, he hurriedly outlined, "You have a broken rib and I think you contused your heart which is hampering the blood circulating to your brain. I need to make a cut below your ribs, give the blood another outlet."

Having been injured and around injuries enough in the past to know that sometimes the medical jargon actually sounded as bad as it was, Dean nodded his acquiescence for the doctor to whatever he could. Just wanted to breathe, didn't want to leave Sam, not so soon after their father had died.

Turning to Evan, who had stood back out of his way, Hank rattled off his wish list. "I need a bottle of vodka, a big pen, a sharp knife and a small plastic bag and some duct tape."

Having mentally ticked off the possibilities of obtaining each item his brother mentioned, Evan protested, "Sharp knife? In this crowd? They don't seem the pocket knife carrying kind, Hank." An edge of panic slipping in because, the guy on the ground, he didn't look like he was going to stay breathing much longer.

Hank didn't disagree with Evan, wished he could. He was surprised when his patient rasped, "knife," and gestured weakly toward his right shoe.

With uncertainty, Hank padded down the man's ankle, stilled as his hand struck something hard. Pulling free a small but sharp silver knife from the back of the man's shoe, he faced his patience with confusion and awe, "Later you're going to have to tell me some more about your job." In alarm, he watched the man's eyes flutter, knew that the timetable in his head wasn't right after all. He had less time, not more. "Evan, go!" he ordered, knew instinctively when his brother left his vicinity.

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Hunting the Men's Club's opulent lounge for Dean, Sam gritted his teeth at the marked absence of his brother. If Dean had gone off investigating some room without him, he was going to be pissed. He had told Dean that after their less than successful run-in with the old man ghost earlier in the day that they should do research, some reconnaissance of where the ghost had previously been spotted before they went for round two. The ghost had definitely had it in for Dean, barely even bothering with him, had been so focused on squeezing the life out of Dean that he hadn't sensed his approach, didn't anticipate the rocksalt shower Sam gave him. After which, Sam had unceremoniously hauled Dean to his feet and got them both out of the dilapidated old country club as fast as he could.

Their failure, however, had raised Dean's hackles, made him more determined to finish the ghost off with a vengeance. That determination had led them there, to mingle among the Hampton's elite male population over eighty years old, in a place that the ghost had once been rumored to be seen, though years earlier. And as a bonus, these very patrons would have enjoyed the Country Club in it's hey day.

But the patrons had proven themselves unhelpful at best.

"The old club, now those were the days. Met my first wife there…and my third mistress."

"Oh that place was overrated even in its prime. I turned down the invitations after my sons were through the social riggers of society."

"Died? No one ever died there…less it was of boredom."

Pulling out his cell phone, Sam was about to call Dean, declare it a day when he saw the man he had met earlier at the bar, Evan, push his way through the crowd with urgency, practically run to the bar. Watched as Evan headed back the way he had come with equal urgency carrying a liquor bottle and some things in his other hand.

Sensing trouble, Sam started to make his way through the pressing crowd, offered up apologetic smiles and "excuse me", "pardon me" as he jostled the arthritic limbs of the club's movers and shakers. He came to a stand still, frustrated that he had lost Evan's trail when he saw a door leading to the terrace click shut.

Slipping out the door, Sam stumbled to a stop at the scene before him, Dean on the ground, a man leaning over him slicing a knife across his brother's stomach.

Having turned his back to Hank's operating room antics so he wouldn't pass out, Evan saw Sam coming through the door, easily read the shock and then the fury in the man's features. Knew that, what Hank was doing behind him, it wouldn't be something a brother would like to see.

Walking forward, hands raised in a placating gesture, he began, "Whoa. Just let me explain." But Sam was breaking from his shock, was suddenly in motion, bounding down the stairs. And Evan decided to do the stupidest thing he had ever done. He stepped between Sam Winchester and his injured brother.

In one fluid motion, Sam used the hand that Evan put on his chest to swing the man around and slam onto the ground on his back. The action barely slowed down his hurried forward motion to get to his brother.

Looking up at the thud and the whoosh of breath from Evan, Hank saw that his brother was on the ground, was radiating surprise but not pain and that the tall dark haired man Evan had pointed out as Dean's brother was stalking forward, his expression fierce.

"Get away from him!" Sam commanded, his voice a decibel under a roar.

Before Hank could offer up an explanation, Dean's brother was upon him, forcefully shoving him backwards. He landed on his back, emanating the same out of breath whoosh that Evan had but he did manage to keep hold of the knife.

Having removed the threat, Sam knelt in the grass at Dean's side and pressed his hand to the cut that the man had made just under Dean's ribs on the left side. Instantly hated the way the blood welled between his fingers, escaped his brother's body. Looking to Dean's face, he realized that Dean's breathing was more gasp than inhale, that there was no color in his brother's cheeks but his lips were tinted blue and his stoic brother was writhing weakly under his hand. Knew that Dean was reacting to more than the inch cut on his torso.

Scrambling upright, Hank urgently explained, "I'm trying to help him. He's got a broken rib that has contused his heart and is cutting off the blood circulating to his brain. If you don't let me release some of that built up blood, your brother will die."

Listening to the man's words but his eyes fixed on Dean's pained eyes, Sam knew that whatever was wrong with his brother, it was killing him. Had seen the look in his brother's eyes before, after his heart attack, in the rearview mirror of the Impala right before the Semi hit them. But it took all of his strength, all of his love for Dean to have the courage to lift up his hands from the puncture wound, to let them hover just above, to let his brother bleed, to trust a stranger with his brother's life. Again.

With Sam's sign of contest, Hank replaced Sam's touch with his own on the incicison, but not to stop the welling blood. "I have to make the incision larger, get some blood out and be able to put in a tube so he can breath." His eyes intently focused on the task at hand and not on Dean's brother.

Pulling his bloody hands further back from the cut, Sam nodded at the other man's explanation, gave his permission. Relegated back to observer, he slid his right hand into his brother's left and tenderly rested his left hand on Dean's head. Instantly, Dean's hand gripped his with an intensity that was nearly bone crushing, revealed the level of agony his brother was in. When he felt Dean stiffen under his touch, he looked at what the man was doing to his brother. Immediately he wished that he hadn't as the knife cut into his brother's skin like it were simply rubber of a scuba suit, like something inanimate, not belonging to a human being, to his brother.

Sam squeezed Dean's hand back harder, an outlet for his own terror and agony at watching Dean being sliced open, being hurt, on purpose, with his consent. And though he had years of experience stitching Dean up, he had none of standing by idly while his brother was surgically sliced into. Jerking his eyes away, he focused on the source of his greatest strength, on Dean.

Leaning over so he could meet Dean's pained eyes, he lightly stroked his brother's hair, entreated tenderly, "Dean just hang on." And it was just like Dean to do the opposite of what Sam asked him to, for his eyes to close and his grip on his little brother's hand to loosen marginally right then and there. "You can't go, alright," Sam cajoled, as if this was merely a debate over Dean threatening to leave him behind at the motel while he did some research on his own. But Dean was set on proving that he didn't have to listen to his little brother and stopped breathing altogether. "I won't let you go," Sam determinedly hissed. Raising Dean's hand, he pinned their clasped hands between them while his other hand fisted in his brother's short hair. "Dean, don't do this!"

Sitting up, Evan watched Sam, not his brother, couldn't' look away. Felt choked at the raw emotions, the fear, the love flowing between the brothers.

When Hank cursed and Dean stilled completely, Evan wanted to be anywhere but there. Didn't want to be there if Sam lost his brother. Couldn't stand to watch the tragedy but also couldn't look away, couldn't move, couldn't walk away. '_Save Sam's brother, Hank. Save him,_' ran through his head, cheering his brother on, imploring Hank to perform another one of his medical miracles.

Hank didn't ask for assistance from Dean's brother or his own, worked alone, heard Sam's entreaties and soothing words to his brother and knew what it would feel like if it were Evan grasping for each breath, dying unless something was done, unless the right thing was done. '_Please God let me be doing the right thing. Help me save Dean.' _Wiping away some of the blood from the incision with his hands, he slid the tubing of the pen into the opening, taped it to Dean's skin and then taped the plastic bag over the tubing.

Sam startled back as Dean suddenly arched off the ground, drew in a deep breath and opened his eyes. Was so similar to the way that Dean had come out of his coma that he felt the need to look behind him to see if his father was coming, would once again show up to make sure Dean was ok. '_Dad's dead. But Dean's alive, Dean's breathing_,' and he slid his hand from Dean's head to cup the side of his neck, squeezing his brother's hand at the same time. "Hey, hey," the words gentle as tears shimmered in his eyes that relished at the sight of his brother's eye contact. "Thought you were going to run out on me there for a second."

"Never," Dean wheezed out the promise, striving to remove the terror he saw in Sammy's eyes. Falling back to the ground, he catalogued a new agony in his body on his left side, though it was almost a fair trade off for being able to breath.

With welling eyes full of gratitude, Sam looked to the man who had saved his brother's life. "I don't know who you are but thank you," his voice a cross between a sob and a joyous tone hiding back a laugh.

Hank opened his mouth to reply but suddenly paramedics were there, crouching down beside his patient, trying to crowd out Dean's brother. Though Sam moved to sit down beside Dean's knees, he noted that the younger man didn't relinquish his grip on his brother's hand, still clenched it securely in his own. Ripping himself away from his immersed focus on the brothers, Hank began rattling off his patient's condition, the procedure he had just performed and what the next steps should be. Stood up as did Sam when they loaded Dean on a bed and raised it. Then he trailed behind Dean, Sam and the 2 paramedics, followed them out to the driveway, watched as they slid Dean into the ambulance, saw that Sam took his rightful place at his brother's side, only returning a glare to the paramedic's suggestion that he follow behind them. And then the ambulance door was slammed shut and he was cut off, abandoned, dismissed.

And it hurt, that disassociation, that he couldn't follow up, couldn't be with a patient the whole way through, couldn't make sure, _himself,_ that they would come through everything ok. And crap but he felt this one deep, couldn't be remote about a brother nearly dying, about a younger brother almost being left behind. It hit too close to home. Could have just as easily been he and Evan on that immaculate lawn, in that ambulance.

Was surprised when a horn honked, when he pulled his eyes away from the taillights of the ambulance and saw Evan in the driveway, in his car, engine running, waiting for him. "What are you…"

"We're going with them," Evan confidently stated but at his older brother's surprised expression, he softly entreated, "We are, right?" hoping to sway his big brother's mind. He didn't want to do it alone but he wanted this, needed to do this, to know, for certain, that Sam's brother was going to pull through. How could Hank not need to know that? How could he care so much about saving a life and then wash his hands of it, not care about their fate once they left his sight?

Recognizing the little brother need for his permission, his approval, Hank climbed in the car's passenger side, told himself he was doing it only for Evan as his brother sent his car rocketing out of the driveway as in pursuit of the ambulance. That it was enough, what he had done. That he did feel like he had completed what was needed of him. Wholly.

Hank couldn't help himself from making a mental note to remind the hospital staff to check the wound on Dean's wrist that he had spied earlier. To check the man for other injuries that he might have ignored like he had the broken rib, his trouble breathing, the fierce pain that had to have been increasing way before he crashed the Men's Club event an hour or so ago. '_If Evan ever hid injuries like that from me…_' he thought with anger and fear, turned on Evan right then and there growled, "Don't you ever hide an injury from me, Evan. Ever."

Surprised to be the recipient of Hank's concern, of his brother doling out an overprotective threat in that 'do or die' tone that he hadn't done since they were kids, Evan shot a look to his big brother. "Right, like that's possible. Your old eagle eyes. Couldn't hide a skinned knee or a hickie from you even when I tried my best."

"Well don't try," Hank shot back, would bet that Sam was no slouch on the eagle eye department either but sometimes, brothers, they pulled something over on you.

"Is that what Sam's brother did? Hid an injury from Sam?" Evan asked, was trying to see where his brother's mind was at.

"Had to. I didn't get the impression that Sam knew Dean was hurt. And Sam didn't seem like the type to not care if something happened to his brother."

"You think? You're very perceptive, bro," Evan snorted, remembered the panic in Sam's eyes. Not to mention, the way Sam had taken him down when he had sought to keep him from his brother.

"Just don't kill us getting us to the hospital…or get a ticket," Hank commanded, making sure Evan didn't forget who the big brother in their family was.

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Hospitals always drew lines that Sam couldn't cross, like friggin salt lines. Suddenly Sam knew how it felt to know where he wanted to go and be trapped waiting behind a line, to see a door swing shut in his face and know he couldn't follow his brother through it. It sucked.

He didn't see how it had come to this, how Dean had ended up collapsed on the grounds of a men's club, needing emergency surgery so that he could breathe, not go and die on him. Sure, the ghost had gotten in a few licks but it hadn't seemed serious. '_According to Dean_,' Sam angrily qualified, was so sick of his brother protecting him, pretending that he was always alright, that he was invincible when he wasn't. Had nearly died on him a few months ago to prove that point.

'_If that guy…that stranger hadn't been there, hadn't known what to do…Dean would be dead right now._' The paramedics had bluntly told him that even as they marveled at the ingeniousness of the stranger's medical treatment. Had compared him to MacGyver. '_Being saved by a medical MacGyver, Dean will hate that._' Because Dean liked the notion of being rescued by someone more badass than him, not some …pacifistic scientist. As for Sam, he didn't care if Mother Teresa came to his brother's rescue. The only thing that mattered was that he hadn't lost his brother. '_Yet,_' rang through his head because, as lifesaving as the stranger's MacGyverism was, he was told that his brother was in critical condition, that there was a high risk that he would code in the surgery to repair the internal damage.

Somehow Sam wished that the stranger was there, was the one donning scrubs and heading into the operating room to ensure Dean made it through. Because, that guy, he trusted him, had watched how he had worked feverishly over his brother, had not backed down even when an unglued brother had come barreling onto the scene, promising him bodily harm if he _thought_ about touching his brother again. Knew in his heart that the man _cared_ whether Dean lived or dead, was personally vested in Dean's survival.

With their father gone, the wait for news was lonely. Though, in truth, their father hadn't been around once to wait with him when Dean was injured the past year, not even when he and Dean were patients in the same hospital. Waiting wasn't his father's specialty. '_Hadn't__ been his specialty,_' he corrected, still struggling with the need to speak about his father in the past tense, to accept that his father wasn't just out on the road, one step ahead of them, simply choosing to not return their phone calls but was dead. For all the times as a kid growing up that it had felt like it was just him and Dean on their own, it was now the real thing. Just the two of them. No backup. No one to call when one of them got hurt, no one to sit beside whichever one of them wasn't in surgery, no one to provide a buffer to the growing fear of losing his brother. Dean was right all along. Being alone…it stank.

'_Don't leave me alone, Dean. Don't you do it,' _Sam pleaded, leaning forward, he linked his hands behind his bowed head and forced himself to wait. All alone.

Beating Hank across the corridor to the seated despondent Sam, Evan quietly asked, "Hey, how's your brother doing?" Felt a little sorry when his question startled the younger man.

Sam couldn't believe that Evan was there. And it showed how worried he had been about Dean that he only then realized that the man who had performed surgery on Dean, who now stood at Even's shoulder was Evan's brother. Standing, he stammered, "Oh Hey, Evan about back there…I'm sorry," ashamed that he had attacked someone who had been helping Dean, two someones.

Evan raised his hands in acceptance and forgiveness, "I totally get it. I understand doing things because of the bonds of brotherhood, Sam."

'_You do_' Hank internally questioned looking at Evan, not expecting sentimentally from his younger, cocky brother. But today, Evan was full of surprises, had not only insisted on coming to the hospital but had left him in the dust when he had spied Sam in the waiting area.

Nodding in gratitude at Evan's indulgence for his flipping out, Sam turned his attention to Evan's brother. "And I didn't even thank you for what you did for my brother," he said in chagrin, '_And I always prided myself on thinking that he had better manners than Dean_. _Well, not when Dean's life is on the line, I don't_,' he qualified, remembered arguing with their father about what steps they could take to save Dean, about the anger he felt at the doctor at his grim diagnosis. But this man, he hadn't written Dean off. He just had to ask, "What you did…are you a doctor, a medic in the service?"

"I'm a doctor. I'm Evan's brother, Hank." The man offered up his hand, which Sam shook, noted with a twinge of nausea that both of their hands still had traces of Dean's blood on them.

Evan was surprised by the introduction, that Hank had announced his tie with him. Most times he figured Hank wanted to disown him, not outwardly claim him as his brother.

"So, have you heard anything about your brother's status?" Hank inquired, eyes fixed on Sam's, hoping to read something in the younger man's demeanor.

"No," Sam announced with a frustrated, worried sigh. "They just wheeled him into surgery a few minutes ago…let me here .." '_Alone._'

But when Hank nodded and he and Evan claimed seats on the chairs on either side of his own, Sam realized he wasn't as alone in this as he thought. Knew that he should be strong enough to do this on his own, to tell them thanks for offering to stay but they didn't need to. But, in truth, he wanted company, needed someone with him when Dean couldn't be. Like Dean had said about looking for their father, he could do it on his own but he didn't want to.

Reclaiming his seat, Sam watched the door that lead to the operating rooms, where Dean was: hurt, vulnerable, without him.

"Sam, I really think your brother's going to come through this fine," Hank consoled, knew it wasn't his place to make those type of statements but couldn't let the kid sit there suffering, believing the worst would happen. Felt struck when Sam turned his head to look at him, to take measure of him, of the truthfulness of his words. "He was breathing on his own, his heart rate was strong, he was conscious. All really good signs."

"They said.." Sam swallowed, hated that he was again sitting in a hospital, a grim prediction about Dean's health hanging over his head, "They said he could code…"

Hank couldn't ignore the truth, didn't want to lie. "He could…," he haltingly admitted, watched Sam's eyes darkened even as he continued, "but I think it unlikely. Your bother seemed physically fit, like he took care of himself, and his strong will are both very positive factors when a doctor considers how a body will handle a trauma."

Sam's eyebrows rose at Hank's perceptiveness of Dean's "strong will."

Reading the man's question in his eyes, Hank couldn't help smirk. "Earlier in the evening, I told your brother he looked unwell and he basically told me to go fly a kite."

A matching smirk found its way onto Sam's features. "Yeah, that sounds like Dean. His cockiness is only outshined by his stubbornness."

"I somehow don't doubt that," Hank drawled, glad that there was a lightening in Sam's eyes at their banter.

"So you really think Dean will be alright?" Sam quietly pressed, needed some more reassurances, couldn't lose Dean, not after losing their father just months ago. Couldn't lose Dean ever.

"I do, Sam. And we'll wait here with you until you hear an update," Hank firmly stated, saw Evan give him a grateful smile as if he were doing it for him, was being nice to one of his friends like back when they were in high school. And it made him feel like a good guy, a good brother. He really liked the feeling.

"Yeah and while we wait you can tell me where you learned to do that 'flip me on my butt' move. And maybe you can tell us why you wanted into the party rated the most boring by all of Hamptons social matrons," Evan rambled, using his light, joking tone, hoping to distract Sam from his worry about his brother. Hoped the method worked on younger brothers like it did on his older brother.

Realizing Evan's tactics weren't about badgering the worried man but about getting Sam to think about something other than his brother, Hank felt proud of Evan, of his compassion. Evan wasn't just the goofball he sometimes acted like…was instead a caring man who used his humor, his conning nature to work his own bedside manner on strangers. '_And on me,_' Hank thought, recognized, for the first time, all the ways his little brother had been there for him, had gotten him out of his abyss of depression, pushed and pulled and joked him from his state of the hopelessness into the light, into the Hamptons, into a new life. '_I owe you, Evan and some day, I'm going to find a way to repay you.'_

Though Dean was the master of distracting him from going all 'morose Sam' and Evan had a ways to go to even be in Dean's pee wee league, Sam wholly appreciated the man's efforts on his behalf. Especially when it would have been easy to succumb to his terror, to unravel everything he had kept tightly wound since Dean had almost died, since their dad had.

Sam felt a wash of gratitude toward the two strangers, the two _brothers_ who were with him when Dean couldn't be, were ensuring that he didn't have to wait alone. And maybe that was another part of that bond of brotherhood Evan had talked about: a brother knowing in his heart what his brother needed and giving it to him. Sometimes knowing that and giving that even when the brother in need wasn't even your own.

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TBC?

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I would love to know if anyone is interested in more of this story.

Thanks to anyone who took the time to read this crossover tale!

Have a great evening!

Cheryl W.


	2. Chapter 2

Pro Bono

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Royal Pains or Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: Cross over with Royal Pains (1st Season) and Supernatural (2nd Season.) While working a case in the Hamptons, the Winchesters cross paths with 2 brothers running their own sometimes pro bono family business, proving that sometimes the best things in life are free.

Author's Notes: Wow! I'm so flattered by the response you all gave me on this story! Thank you so much! And since I got such wonderful encouragement, I'm continuing the story.

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Chapter 2

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As Dean's doctor approached, Sam dropped his conversation with Evan mid-sentence and stood up, felt Evan and Hank do the same at his back. And he knew what he should be asking, but he couldn't utter the words, didn't want to make the inquiry. Twice in the too recent past he had asked a doctor if his brother was going to be alright, and two times he had only gotten hopelessness back in return. He couldn't bear for it to happen a third time.

Stepping forward, Hank looked worriedly to Sam. The tension, the terror was evident in the taller man's demeanor and he knew those emotions were keeping the other man silent. Hoping he wasn't overstepping his boundaries, he spoke directly to the doctor on the younger man's behalf. "What's Dean's condition?"

Shifting his gaze from Sam to Dr. Hank Lawson, the hospital doctor sneered, "I'm sorry, _Doctor_…Hank, but you don't have privileges here." He had heard rumors of Hank Lawson but this was the first time he had crossed paths with the doctor for the spoiled wealthy who summered in Hampton.

Hank, not prepared for the malice that sparked in the other doctor's eyes or the contempt in the man's tone, shifted on his feet, sought to recover his composure. He hated himself for allowing the other doctor to derail him from his main concern, his patient, was about to demand an update on Dean's condition when Sam spoke in _his _silence.

His protective instincts flaring, Sam straightened to his full height and proclaimed with an edge to his voice, "They are friends of our family." His eyes daring the surgeon to dispute the statement, to tell him that two people who saved his brother's life, who had made sure he wasn't waiting alone, weren't to be counted as friends. A commodity he and Dean had very little of.

Surprised by the younger man's words, the surgeon hesitated, but when he spoke, it was directly to his patient's brother, not to the doctor who probably did house calls at beach parties for sunburns. "Your brother came through surgery extremely well. It turned out to be more a case of his broken rib shifting and blocking blood flow to the heart than internal damage." He couldn't help look to Lawson, fully expected to see cockiness in the man's expression. After all, Lawson had been right. What Lawson had diagnosed, had done on the lawn of one of the clubs that he himself would never be permitted to step inside, had been the only course of action that would have saved the man's life. But instead of cockiness, he saw relief in Lawson's eyes, watched as the doctor laid a hand on his patient's brother's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Sam felt lightheaded at the relief washing over him, nodded like a simpleton as the surgeon continued, told him Dean would be in recovery a little while and then he could see him, that his brother was going to be alright, wasn't dying, didn't just have a few weeks to live, wasn't even going to be comatose. He was still standing there, stunned, when the surgeon left.

Stepping in front of Sam, Hank gently asked, "How are you doing?"

Sam erupted in a sound half way between a laugh and a sob and shook his head, couldn't form words for how he was, how grateful he was , how scared he had been, how lost he would have been if Dean had left him this time.

"Alright, take a seat," Hank kindly ordered, grabbed Sam by the elbow and steered him back to the chair. When Sam obeyed his order and reclaimed his seat, he turned to Evan. "Can you go get some orange juice from the vending machine or cafeteria?"

Feeling out of his league with the doctor talk, Evan was glad Hank needed him for something, that he could do something for Sam, who honestly, looked worse after hearing good news. Heading down the hallway at nearly a run, he knew that Sam was in good hands. Hank was good at comforting, reassuring, knew that personally because his big brother had pulled him back from the brink of fear many times when they were kids.

Taking a seat again beside Sam, Hank watched as Sam bowed forward, put his head in his hands. He didn't try to patronize the upset man by restating what the surgeon had said, by telling him again that his brother was out of danger, was going to be fine. He didn't think misunderstanding the prognosis was Sam's issue, figured that the other possible outcomes were the culprit for Sam's upheaval. And for that type of fear, there were no easy words of comfort. Sam could have lost his brother and there would have been no making that better. So he sat beside Sam, quiet, supportive, there if Sam needed to talk, wanted to talk.

"Our father died a few months ago," Sam began, voice rough, eyes clamped shut, found it easier to say the words if he didn't have to face Hank.

Hank stilled at Sam's statement, knew only too well what it was like to lose a parent. And then to almost lose his brother…no wonder Sam was unraveling a little.

"But it was almost Dean." Sam's words were choked, carried all the fears that he had tried to bury. "Dean…he thinks it should have been him." He drew in a shaky breath, was surprised it didn't turn into a sob on its exhale. Sitting up, he looked down the hallway where the surgeon had gone, where he knew Dean was. "I…I didn't know if…he would fight to save his own life." And it sounded wrong, like Dean was weak, suicidal, but he couldn't help the feeling, that Dean would somehow think that if he were gone, Dad would miraculously come back, that he could exchange a life for a life, again That he would somehow right a wrong by dying now, like he thought he should have after the car accident.

"I think he fought for you," Hank quietly stated, was met instantly with Sam's wide eyed gaze. "Evan and I…we're all either of us has. And I …I wouldn't ever leave Evan on his own, not if there was any way on earth for me to stay with him. I feel that he's mine to protect, you know? That we lost our mom and our dad.." he looked away a moment, didn't really want to broach that subject. Turning back to Sam he continued, "I looked after Evan and I would never give that up. I think…Dean, he feels the same way about you, that he would do anything to protect you." As Sam's eyes filled, he knew he had hit his mark, didn't need the other man's nod to confirm it. Lightening his tone, he concluded, "And that means he's probably going to be the worst patient this hospital has ever seen."

Sam gave a surprised bark of laughter, "Yeah, pretty much."

Leaning back causally in the chair, Hank drawled, "Makes me glad I don't have privileges here."

Sam smiled, couldn't imagine the arguments that would ensue if Hank was in charge of Dean's followup care. Because no matter how stubborn Hank thought Dean was, that perception would totally pale in comparison to the way his brother was going to be after he woke up in the hospital, began his I'm-alright-Sammy-let's-get-out-of-here campaign.

With a knowing smirk, Sam agreed with Hank, "Oh, you should be glad. Trust me."

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Sitting on their veranda, Evan looked away from the nighttime sky to his brother, who was similarly focused on the stars. "I know I don't always say it, but what you do, what you did today, it's pretty awesome, Hank."

Hank gave his brother an affectionate smile. "Thanks Evan. And I appreciated your help."

"What? The not passing out?" Evan scoffed, knew that he wasn't the best wing man in a medical emergency.

Hank laughed but the pride for his brother didn't diminish. "Yeah, definitely that, but the idea of going to the hospital, too. You were there for Sam when he needed someone to be."

"Man, the way Sam took me down to the mat, that was like a Ninja move. They must mix it up pretty heavy in their family security business."

"Mix it up?" Hank retorted, chuckling at his brother's choice of words.

"And Dean, I'm still new to this operating thing but …what you did …that had to hurt, like a lot, **a lot**." Evan didn't usually ask such questions, didn't want Hank to think he doubted that what he did, whether it caused pain or not, was the right thing to do. I mean, he saved Dean's _life_.

Hank stiffened at the question and looked away. "Yeah, it did."

"But he wasn't….yelling or anything and he was …awake."

Hank grimaced, surprised Evan was catching onto what he had concluded too. Knowing what Evan was like when he was determined to know something, he turned back to his brother. Rationalizing that he wasn't divulging anything against the doctor patient confidentiality clause if he was simply confirming an outsider observation that he and Evan had made on his own, he slowly answered, "I believe that Dean has an extremely high tolerance for pain." What he didn't mention was the amount of pain Dean had to have been earlier, before he collapsed. Nor did he admit that he had spied another injury on Dean's arm, had seen the scars on the man's torso, old and new scars. All in all, it told him that Dean was no stranger to pain.

"Let's stick to what we do. You patch 'em up and I tally up the bill," Evan announced as he got up, headed for bed. But then he swung around, came back and leaned down until his chin rested on Hank's right shoulder. "You do realize Sam would have killed you if Dean would have died, right?"

Hank laughed as if Evan was joking. "Nah uh."

"Oh yeah, he would have. Makes getting sued for malpractice sound like a good thing, doesn't it?" Squeezing Hank's shoulder, Evan left his brother with that thought. "Pleasant dreams, bro," he bade as he climbed the stairs to his bedroom.

Hank found that Evan's words weren't so easy to dismiss. The way Sam had reacted when he came upon him cutting into his brother, the full-blown panic and fear, the devotion Sam showed for his brother, the way Sam had talked about almost losing Dean before…It wasn't so hard to imagine what Sam would do if someone took his brother away from him.

'_Would I do any less if someone took Even from me?_' And the answer? He was pretty sure he knew, had always known. After losing his mother and his father abandoning them, leaving him and Evan to survive on their own, he would do anything to protect the only family he had left, and if he lost that family…he could understand wanting to do something no doctor should ever contemplate doing.

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Sitting at Dean's bedside, Sam watched his brother's features, praying to see even the most diminutive of movement. This time there were no machines breathing for Dean, no heart monitor tracking his brother's once struggling heartbeat. Was just this…stillness. And though he was glad not to be faced again with Dean's brave but pessimistic "Guess you'll be leaving town without me." "I'm dying and you can't stop it," just hearing his brother's voice, it would have eased the terrified boy in him that was clutching to his brother's hand.

Though he was more thankful than he had been able to express to Hank and Evan, he was glad they weren't still there, weren't watching him, watching Dean. This, what he and Dean had between them, it was private, sacred. Even his father had known to give him time alone with his brother when Dean was comatose, knew that he didn't belong there, between them. And he felt a slice of guilt about that now, that he had never let his father in his heart as deep as he had Dean. '_It's something earned. Dad didn't earn that trust from me, that level of love.'_ But he knew that his father couldn't, anymore than Jess could. Dean just wasn't replaceable to him. '_Now if I could only get the jerk to see that.'_

As if said jerk realized he had to defend his honor, Dean stirred weakly in the hospital bed and his eyes fluttered.

Sliding closer to his brother, Sam gave the hand in his grip a gentle squeeze, smiled widely as his brother's eyes finally opened. "Hey."

Greeted back to the living with his brother's soft tone and warm, if exhausted, look, Dean croaked out a matching, "Hey," noting that his voice was rough from disuse and medical procedures he didn't want to think about. "Guess I didn't just dream giving my knife to a stranger and him slicing me open on a men's club lawn?"

"Ah, no dream," Sam supplied, forced himself to keep a tinge of his smile in place because he knew this was Dean's way of handling trauma, of making light of almost dying.

Closing his eyes, Dean put the pieces together of what had happened, how he ended up again in a friggin' hospital gown. "Since I'm still alive, I'm assuming that Hank knew what he was doing?" Opening his eyes, he watched Sam.

"He was a doctor…"  
"So, he claimed…" Dean interjected, was silenced with Sam's small scowl at being interrupted.

"To the rich and famous," Sam concluded, enjoyed the way Dean's eyebrows climbed at that news flash.

"Doctor 12837?" Dean asked, saw his brother's confusion and clarified, "You know like Dr. 90210, that show? The Hamptons' zip code is 12837," he patiently explained, his expression, even as pale as he was, showing what a burden it was to have a geekboy as a brother.

Finally getting where Dean was going, Sam snorted. '_Leave it to Dean to drag a reality tv show into his first conversation after nearly dying.' _"Hank's brother, Evan, would love to use that on his advertisement for their business."

Shifting was a mistake but Dean did it anyway, wanted to be more lucid to track what Sam was saying. "Brother? You met his brother? Did they have you over for drinks while I've been under the knife? Two knives actually," he corrected off-handedly while the intensity of his gaze grew.

A little hurt that Dean would think he was off socializing while he was hurt, might die, Sam retorted, knew his tone was on the edge of indignation, was creeping toward anger, "Evan and I met at the club before you decided to scare the crap out of me. Again. You have a strange way of trying to prove you're not leaving me, Dean." The condemnation clear, but so was his fear…and his desperation.

Dean smirked in the face of Sam's rising anger. "Some say it with a Hallmark card but I prefer…"

"To say it with a hospital trip? Dean, why didn't you tell me you were hurt? Some stranger knows it before I do."

"Doctor," Dean corrected, as if that would help his cause. But Sam's gaze only darkened. Knowing that Sam's anger was stemming from his concern, concern for him, Dean gentled his next words, "I didn't know it was going to turn into…well, whatever it turned into."

Sam ticked off the list. "Broken rib, internal bleeding and bruising, loss of blood circulating to your heart."

"Yeah, that."

"But you knew about the broken rib, right?" Sam challenged, almost daring Dean to lie to him, to play the ole 'I'm fine' card like he had since they stumbled out of the haunted Country Club that morning.

Nonchalantly, glibly, Dean replied, "Nothing I haven't had before Sam."

But that only set Sam off on a tirade. "Yeah, well you've had a heart attack, been in a coma, nearly _died_," he summarized, his voice rising with each example. "I said I didn't want to lose you like I did Dad. You remember that, Dean?"

"Vaguely," Dean smart mouthed back. At his brother's scowl, when Sam looked away from him and clenched his jaw like he had in that hospital after his heart attack when his chances of leaving town with Sam were nil, Dean felt his heart give a painful thud. He was hurting Sam, had hurt Sam, had scared him into thinking he would chose to leave him. "Sam, I really didn't think it was anything serious," he earnestly insisted, was rewarded with Sam's eye contact, warily eye contact though, as if his younger brother was waiting for the punch line, for him to belittle him for his fear. "The pain got worse at the club and I was going to tell you about it. I even had my phone out to call you when it got bad. I just…never got to make the call."

"You were going to call me?" Sam's suspicion was obvious but so was his desire to believe Dean, to trust that his big brother was going to admit his weakness to him.

"Yeah. Who else would I call, Sam? Maybe you've not noticed but my lifelines are a little slim right now. It's you…and you…and right, you," Dean joked but his voice was tender and the look he bestowed on Sam was one of open affection.

As much as Sam loved that Dean wanted his help, would accept his help, the idea that Dean didn't have other people to have his back stirred worry in him. "No, there's Bobby and Ellen and Jo.."

"None of them are you, Sam," Dean starkly pointed out, making it clear that, if he needed help, Sam was always going to be his first choice. That no matter how he felt about Ellen and Jo, or even Bobby, they weren't a substitute for having his brother at his side, especially when he was at his worst, felt like he was taking his last breath.

Regardless of how grim things had been hours ago, that Dean was still looking just this side of awful, Sam smiled, knew his eyes were sparking with pleasure. Their Dad was gone but he and Dean, they had each other. And that was gift enough.

"Course I would rather have Jo holding my hand than you…" Dean quirked, laughed when Sam released his hand like it was a chuck of hot coal.

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Stepping out of the elevator onto Hampton Heritage Hospital's third floor, Hank headed toward room 392, hoping that Dean Winchester was awake and doing well. He wondered if Sam would be there, faithfully at his brother's side. '_I would be surprised if Sam wasn't there_,' he thought, smiling as he turned into the room only to come up short. The bed was empty. Empty and made up with crisp hospital corners on its sheets waiting for another patient to occupy.

"No," he denied, as a cold dread fell over him. Swinging around, he hurriedly headed to the nurses' station even as he re-evaluated every medical procedure he had performed on Dean, mentally listed all the possible things that could have gone wrong since Dean came out of recovery. His voice was breathless and his tone was increasing as he started to bombard the nurse with his questions. "Where's the patient who was in room 392, Dean? Did something happen? Is he in ICU?"

"Sir, are you a family member? By law, I can only give out a patient's information to approved members of family. If you give me your name, I can see if you were on Mr…"

"Were?" Hank repeated, felt the way his heart painfully thudded in his chest at the nurse's past tense reference to Dean. "He's dead?" his tone filled with sorrow, with grief as he thought of Sam losing his brother, of Dean, who seemed like such a fighter, being gone. He had just met the two men but he had felt a connection with them, they were like he and Evan, were two brothers who stuck together, could handle anything the world threw at them. '_Anything but this, but the lost of each other.' _

Knowing the nurse was about to tell him again that he wasn't privileged to know that information, he quietly stated, "I was his doctor…well since yesterday. I …I came to …" '_To see if he was Ok, to see if Sam was Ok, to just sit there and watch them interact, be brothers_.' He felt sick, like he had when he had lost his first patient. It felt personal, this loss.

"Hank, hey I was going to call you," Jill greeted as she came to lean against the nurse's desk beside him.

Too numb to give a proper greeting, Hank nodded, couldn't speak, not lightly, not with the lump in his throat.

A little surprised by Hank's standoffishness, Jill pulled back, gave him some space, toned down the effrontery she was going to lace her words with. "So, you noticed your patient's gone."

Hank's head snapped toward Jill, couldn't believe she was being so callous. "I…he…what went wrong? He came through surgery well. Sam was going in to see him when Evan and I left last night…"

"Wrong?" Jill countered, confusion marring her features, detected the raw emotions in Hank's usually calm, upbeat demeanor. Then she understand, instantly sputtered, "Oh gosh, no! He's fine…well, not fine but he checked out AMA early this morning."

Relief making him weak in the knees, Hank closed his eyes and reached out, used the nurse's station to steady himself. Dean wasn't dead, Sam hadn't lost his brother. Dean had just….

"Checked himself out?" Hank lowly thundered, his eyes coming up to collide with Jill's, his relief sloshing over to outrage and worry. "He was in no condition, none, to leave and you know that. How could you let him walk out of here? Why didn't you call me immediately. You knew I brought him in…"

Raising her hands in surrender, Jill defended heatedly, "Hold it right there. Maybe you forget what AMA stands for. I didn't let him do anything, he decided of his own free will. And I did try to talk him out of leaving, even tried my best to scare his brother into forcing him to stay but your patient, he wouldn't listen to a word I said. He gave me this…this cocky smile as he signed the AMA like he was signing an autograph I had begged him for. The only reason he left in a wheelchair was because his brother insisted."

Hank sighed, ran his hand through his hair. He knew how stubborn Dean could be and he had just met him. Jill would have been no match for him, especially if Sam was taking Dean's side. "Sorry, sorry. I know how stubborn Dean is. The only one who could have stopped him was his brother, question is why he didn't." And that made no sense, because, from what he knew of Sam, he would do anything to keep his brother safe. '_Probably even put me six foot under like Evan believes.'_

"So you know this guy? You're friends?" Jill asked, knew it made sense, the amount of sorrow coming off of Hank if the man was an old acquaintance instead of just another random patient.

"Just met him yesterday," Hank lightly returned. "So, where can I find them?" Mentally he was moved onto the next step, namely, finding his patient and chewing him out and oh yeah, making sure he stayed alive.

"Yeah," Jill said with a smirk. "That's the other thing. They listed their address as 78 Bonamon Way, Nebraska. Trouble is, I can't find Bonamon Way on the post office registry of addresses."

"Maybe it's a new development. Besides they were just visitors, citidoits, as you call them. Where were they staying in town?"

"They never told us," Jill answered as she consulted the paperwork in her hands.

"But Sam wouldn't have left without telling you where to reach him," Hank refuted, knew that Sam wouldn't have relied just on his cell phone for the only way for the hospital to reach him if something went wrong with Dean during the night.

The nurse, who had previously been tight lipped, piped in then, "Oh his brother never left his side. Vera even threatened to call security but he won her over with his school boy charm." Then realizing her audience, she turned to Jill, the hospital administrator, "Oh, Mrs. Casey, I know it went against hospital policy but he didn't disturb anyone and he was frantic to stay with his brother…"

Jill waved off the nurse's defense. "Trust me, I wasn't immune to his charm either. Or his brother's smile."

"Oh ho, you weren't?" Hank joked with theatrical jealousy, tracking Jill's slow smile.

"Some citidoits have their appeal and sometimes a girl can't help but be taken in…a little by them."

"A little huh?" Hank leaned in closer to Jill. "You talking about me or Dean and Sam?"

"Oh Dean and Sam, definitely them," she clarified brashly. "If I find out where they went to ground, I'll call you," she promised as she walked away.

"Immediately, right? Not a few hours after the fact?" Hank called after her but she didn't turn around to address his jab at her earlier delay in contacting him.

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Evan had just stepped through the hospitals' sliding doors when he saw his brother coming toward him. Too late to hide, he wracked his brain for a valid HankMed reason for being there.

Surprised to see Evan, Hank stopped in front of his brother. "I know why you're here so don't bother trying to convince me it's some CFO related business."

Dropping his shoulders but not all of his façade, Evan said, "Ok, fine, I wanted to make sure Dean was doing OK. As CFO of HankMed it's important that I make connections…"

Grabbing Evan's elbow, Hank turned his brother around and headed them both for the exit. "Well, that "connecting" isn't happening here because Dean checked himself out AMA," an edge of anger tainting his words.

"Checked himself out A…M…what?" Evan returned, surprised that Hank's grip on his elbow was still there, that his brother was practically dragging him along with him.

"Against Medical Advice. My medical advice," Hank explained, stressed his personal irk at the injured man's actions. "And we're going to find them, you and me."

"We are?"

"Yes."

"Like the Hardy Boys? Can I be Joe because Joe could sing and he had the better hair?" Evan readily jumped on the idea of playing detective.

"What are you saying about my hair?" Hank shot back, releasing his grip on his brother as they reached his car, already wondering where two "citidoits" who crashed a premiere Hampton party would stay for the weekend.

"About your hair? Nothing. About Joe's…"

"That luxury hotel you booked us in…"

"What?"

"That's where they would stay. Where we did our first weekend here."

"The Hampt Inn? Really? Doesn't seem….their style," Evan said, trying to envision Dean and Sam lounging by the pool with kids running by, stressed out mothers chasing them.

"And it seemed like ours?"

"No but it was the only …." And he met Hank's eyes.

"Vacancy in town," the Lawson brothers said in unison.

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With Hank in the lead, the Lawson brothers had just topped the stairs in the Hamp Inn's non-impressive south wing when a motel room door down the hallway opened. Dean emerged and started walking toward the stairs, head turned to speak over his shoulder to Sam, who was at his heels, a black bag slung over his shoulders.

Stopping in the outside hallway, Hank waited for his prey to walk into his web. He smiled when Dean finally looked forward, noticed him, but it was a condescending I-caught-you-in-the-act-and-I-have-a-devious-punishment-already-in-mind smile. "Funny, you look like this guy that nearly died yesterday," he taunted, finger pointing at Dean like he couldn't quite place where he knew him.

Dean pulled on his charismatic smile, "Hank, right? And you came by to return my phone. And maybe my knife, unless you've decided to added it as a standard in your little black bag of tricks." He pointedly let his gaze drop to the medical bag Hank held before rising to confront his Good Samaritan.

Hank good-naturedly shook his head, "No. Nope. Not why I'm here." Then he put his hand on the wall and shifted so his hip rested against the railing, effectively blocking Dean's passageway. "Imagine my surprise when I went to check up on my patient and found out that he left the hospital, AMA. Which, by the way, is totally against my medical advice too," a stern reprimand carrying in his declaration.

"My doctor, huh?" Dean retorted, a challenge in his eyes. "I don't remember signing my medical records over to you. Did Sam do that while I was on the Men's Club lawn or back at the hospital."

Sam shifted nervously behind Dean. He didn't want this to get out of hand but knew it was almost inevitable. Hank was pushing Dean, and Dean didn't appreciate being pushed under normal circumstances. But pushing Dean when he was feeling weak, vulnerable…it was a sure way to start a full out war. If anyone knew that it was him.

Hank gave a shrug of his shoulders but his expression was intense, "Once I use a guy's own concealed knife to slice him open on an exclusive club's garden, I just always consider that an unvoiced agreement of consent. I get my best clients that way. And my brother, Evan, he's the stickler for paperwork, can draw you up some forms in triplicate if that would make you more comfortable."

Dean couldn't help smirking at the doctor's comeback, found he like the guy, that his wit matched his own. "So a lot of your clients have knives? Thought that would be more of a redneck community thing than a wealthy who's who in America vacation spot occurrence."

Feeling relieved when Dean smirked, Hank was breathing easier, loosening his stance as he joked back, "The right to bear arms, it's practically the motto for our practice."

Sam met Evan's eyes over their big brother's shoulders, smiled. Once again, he was impressed by Hank. And he was equally grateful that Evan was there for moral support, not to mention being there to play referee in case a fight broke out between their big brothers.

"Ok, so now that we've talked motto and consent forms and bad decisions, why don't we head back to your room so I can check you over," Hank reasoned but when Dean took a step forward, he firmed up his stance, readied himself to physically stop Dean from getting by him.

With a tight smile, Dean lowly objected, "Oh, well we just checked out."

Speaking from the safe position behind his brother, Evan contradicted, "Ah, no you didn't. The desk clerk said this morning you just extended your stay for two nights." When Dean's dangerous eyes nailed into his, Evan took a step back, was hoping that Hank slowed Dean down enough for him to get a good head start on his escape.

Stepping to the right, blocking Dean's line of vision with his brother, Hank met Dean's defiant gaze, "I really wasn't asking to check you out, I was telling you." Seeing the clench in Dean's jaw, he added, "I'm going to stay right here, will camp outside your room until you say yes." And he meant it, was not about to let the scare he had in the hospital become true, to let Sam lose his brother just because Dean could be intimidating, because he carried knives in his boots and he was practically giving him a death threat with his eyes. A patient's wellbeing came before his own.

Coming from a family of stubborn, determined men, Dean knew the look Hank was wearing only too well. "My gosh, you're a pain in the butt," he growled but it was a concession and they both knew it.

"Actually it's one of my more endearing qualities." Hank then made a circling gesture with his hand, indicating Dean should do an about face and head back to their room. Dean actually let out a low growl as he obeyed. As he followed Dean, Hank beamed smugly at Sam's astonished expression. Sometimes that only way to beat stubbornness was with a greater show of stubbornness.

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TBC

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Thanks so much for every awesome review. I truly was touched by your kindness!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	3. Chapter 3

Pro Bono

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Royal Pains or Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: Cross over with Royal Pains (1st Season) and Supernatural (2nd Season.) While working a case in the Hamptons, the Winchesters cross paths with 2 brothers running their own sometimes pro bono family business, proving that sometimes the best things in life are free.

Author's Notes: Well, I finally decided that this tale it set after "Playthings" in Supernatural's second season. So spoilers right here if you aren't familiar with Supernatural up to that point in the series…((SPOILERS: What you'll need to know is John's dead, Sam's went on his little solo excursion a few weeks ago and Dean's promised a despairing Sam he wouldn't die on him and, if it came down to it, he would fulfill the promise he made to his father. )) Oh and it's a long chapter ahead…

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Chapter 3

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Unlocking their motel room door, Dean scanned the nautically decorated room as he stepped inside, made sure that he and Sam hadn't left any weapons or research lying around. Reaching the middle of the room, he turned around, found that Hank was inches away, had been hovering at his back like Sam usually was, like his brother had been all morning.

"Soon as you lie down, I'll get started," Hank stated firmly, realized that this was going to be a battle the whole way.

"I'll sit," Dean countered roughly, walking the short distance to the bed and sinking down onto the mattress, refusing to let a flicker of pain show in his features. Just because Hank had seen him at his most vulnerable yesterday didn't mean he wanted to showcase his weakness again to the man. Or to Sam and Evan who had parked themselves by the now closed door.

Watching the way his patient walked, the stoic expression he wore as he refused to lay down, instead took a seat on the bed, Hank scowled, knew that, whatever trust Dean had given him yesterday to perform emergency surgery, it wasn't present today. Dean had reverted back to the man that he had first met at the party, the one in pain and denying it, who had, minutes after said denial, had almost died. Hank didn't welcome that man's return.

Snagging a chair, Hank sat in front of Dean and put his bag on the nightstand. He purposefully didn't meet Dean's eyes as he started to remove the button-down shirt the man wore over his t-shirt.

"I got it," Dean groused indignantly, shrugging off Hank's help only to find other hands, more familiar hands taking over, sliding the shirt off his shoulders. "Sam," he lowly growled, glaring up to Sam, who didn't back down, simply tugged on the shirt until he straightened his arms.

Watching as Dean, begrudgingly, allowed his brother to help him maneuver free of his shirt, Hank nodded at Sam, grateful for the help. Sam gave a small smile in return and then took a step back, to either give him space or to be out of reach of his brother's possible retaliation, he didn't know which. He didn't dwell on it as he lifted Dean's t-shirt up, saw again the bruising on the man's torso that was now even more a spectacular array of colors. Faced with the task of holding up Dean's t-shirt and peeling away the bandage at the same time, he said, "This would be easier if you would lie down or at least take off the t-shirt." Looking up from his inspection, he was nailed with Dean's defiant glare. "So that's a no to both," he undertoned as he one handedly pulled back on the bandage to reveal the cut that he had made in Dean's torso, which was adorned with stitches. With trained fingers, he traced the stitches, the cut, pressed on the puckered skin around the wound.

"If you checked out of the hospital for financial reasons…" Hank began, tried to instill understanding in his tone as he kept his eyesight fixed on the wound under his hand.

"We didn't," Dean roughly cut him off, didn't want to be labeled as some charity case. He easily noted the anger in Hank's eyes when they flashed up to his.

"Well then you shouldn't have left," Hank sharply reprimanded, lifting his hands from the wound, uncertain if his frustration would be conveyed in his touch. "Your body had a serious, nearly fatal trauma. You should be under medical supervision and be getting a steady influx of antibiotics to stave off infection."

"I have awesome healing properties," Dean returned, offering up a smile that wasn't all that friendly.

"No. No, you don't," Hank refuted seriously, grabbing Dean's right hand and turning it over to reveal a white bandage that covered Dean's arm from the wrist up to the inside of his elbow, a bandage that blood was soaking through.

"Darn it, Dean," Sam huffed, stepping closer to his brother, to get a better look at the arm that Dean had insisted on rewrapping himself an hour ago.

Meeting Dean's unhappy expression at being ratted out to his little brother, Hank softened his next words. "You can't expect your body to just get over this just because you want it to. It will heal…but only with time and medication and you taking it easy."

Reading the sincerity, even the concern in Hank's expression, Dean relented. A little. "Fine. I'll drop out of the triathlon next month."

Hank snorted, shook his head, looked up to Sam, "Is he always like this?"

"Usually he's worse," Sam said with a smirk, glad that Dean was changing up belligerence for his deflective humor. It meant that Hank was getting through his brother's barriers.

Turning back to Dean with an incredulous look, Hank taunted, "You get more stubborn than this?"

"It's one of my more endearing traits," Dean threw back Hank's own words at him.

"Really," Hank drawled with a smile. "Well I'm not too shabby at being stubborn myself."

"Understatement of the year," Evan agreed from his stance in the middle of the room, drawing the attention of the other occupants of the room to him. "So, we're all good, right? No more kung fu moves or veiled threats or egotistical showdowns?" Decidedly, he was not a fan of the tension that had radiated from Hank and Dean. Had always deemed himself more a lover than a fighter but if Hank needed him….well, he knew how to throw a punch, sort of. Actually, Hank had been the one who had fought all his school yard bullies.

Hank looked from his brother back to his patient. "Well, that depends on Dean. Wherever you thought you were going, you're not. You're going to lie down and let me do this exam right." When Dean opened his mouth, he ruthlessly continued, "Aannnddd I'm going to start an IV line of antibiotics."

"Sam and I have something we need to do," Dean balked, steel in his tone and determination in his eyes.

"But it'll wait," Sam announced, met Dean's angry look with his own steely resolve.

"Sam.." Dean started to object but his brother cut him off.

"I'm not budging on this, Dean." And Sam wasn't. His love, his affection, his happiness at Dean being alive, and something else unnamed had all crumbled his resolve to stand up to Dean that morning, had him giving into whatever Dean wanted. And that had turned out to be skipping out of the hospital and resuming their research on the country club's ghost problem. But now, supported by Hank, even by Evan, he didn't back down, wasn't going to back down.

And Dean could see it, the stubbornness in his brother, a stubbornness that rivaled his own. But what was really swaying him was the entreaty glimmering in his little brother's eyes. Sam wanted this from him. And the trouble was, he had never been good at refusing Sam much of anything.

Turning back to Hank, Dean outlined the terms for his temporary surrender. "One hour, that's all you've got."

"Four with the IV," Hank countered firmly, as if he held all the leverage in their match of wills. "And whatever you have to do, it's not happening today." His eyes left Dean's protesting gaze to sear into Sam's, knew that Sam had to consent to that too. He didn't look away until Sam nodded his agreement to the terms.

"Now that it's all settled…" Hank began, relief coating his words.

Disgruntled, Dean grumbled, "Yeah, settled."

"..I can get back to why I came here," Hank continued as if he heard nothing from the peanut gallery. Refocusing his intense gaze onto his patient, he smiled smugly, "I believe you were just about to lie down."

"Don't gloat," Dean growled but he was already moving to lie down, wasn't surprised that a hand slid behind his back to steady his descent, was a little taken back that it was Hank's instead of Sam's. Finally laid out on the bed, he couldn't help but seek out the sight of his brother, saw Sam standing at the end of the bed.

Dean took notice of the changes in his brother's features, that the scared look in Sam's eyes was abating, that the weariness pushing down his tall brother's shoulders was morphing into just plain old tiredness from a missed night of sleep. Was proof enough that, him agreeing to let Hank force him to take a time out and stick him with needles, it was taking a load of worry off of Sam.

'_Sorry Sammy. Didn't mean to put more on you, to worry you_,' he wanted to say, hoped his eyes conveyed as much. When Sam gave him a small, warm, forgiving smile, he knew that, like so many times before, he and Sam didn't need words to know how the other felt.

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"Soooo..both of our big brothers are stubborn," Evan opened with as he and Sam leaned on the railing outside the Winchester's motel room.

"Yeah, I noticed that," Sam agreed with a light laugh. Contently, he watched the kids in the pool below, his attention skimming over the mothers that parked themselves in the chairs circling the water, more concerned with tracking their kids than obtaining a tan.

"I wanted to ask, what job are you working on here?" Evan hoped he didn't sound too interested, like the thought of it had kept him awake for a little while the night before. That it wasn't apparent that he couldn't stop wondering what intrigue was going on in the Hamptons right under his nose.

Sam froze at the question, kept his eyes on the pool as he coolly asked, "Job?"

Seeing the way that Sam had stiffen at his question, Evan clarified meekly, "Ah..your security job." He was relieved that, when Sam turned and looked at him, it wasn't with an expression of annoyance. Because, for a moment there, he had been afraid that he had said the wrong thing. Which for him, was a way of life. "Hank said you're in security." At Sam's raised eyebrow of inquiry, he explained, "Dean told Hank that."

Tension bled out of Sam as he realized Dean had already given them a cover. "Security, right," he said quietly, as if to himself. Even off his game, ready to pass out, nearly die, Dean was still the one who kept his game face on, kept their cover in place. Did the protecting.

"So," Evan pressed, fully turning to face Sam, readily forfeiting the view of the unexciting surroundings of the Hampt Inn to study the younger man.

"What?" Sam distractedly murmured.

Evan laughed and that, at last, got him Sam's full attention. '_This is like trying to get personal information from Divya._' "What's the security job you're working on?" He was beginning to wonder if Sam, as an occupationally hazard, had taken some hits to his head.

Sam returned Evan's laughter. Shaking his head, he pretended embarrassment at his air headedness. "Right, sorry. We're handling some security issues at the old country club. They've been having some trouble since they began the renovations." And it was true, a ghost attacking and now killing a worker, that was trouble with security, of some sort.

Snapping his fingers, Evan enthusiastically replied, "I saw that article in the paper about the guy who was killed. They thought it was an accident. Was it murder?" He drew closer, started to speak faster as he imagined the danger, "Did Dean run into the murderer? I bet it was a kung fu martial art extravaganza: Dean vs. the bad guy. Bet the other guy looks worse than Dean."

"Yeah, definitely," Sam answered, tongue in check. After all, the dead guy had looked pretty crusty, way worse than Dean, even with how pale Dean presently was and with his torso looking like an artist's palette, a very messy artist's palette.

Hanging on Sam's every word, Evan surmised, "But the guy got away."

Sam's jaw clenched a moment before he spoke the truth, "Yeah, I got there too late." He couldn't get it out of his head, the sight of Dean trapped in the ghost's merciless grip, gasping for breath, the way Dean had staggered after the ghost had vanished at the rocksalt bath he gave it.

"So you two were heading out to get back on his trail. It's a man right? The murderer?"

"Yes, it's a he…a guy," Sam allowed. '_A dead guy but still a guy_.'

Proud of his deductive reasonings, Evan put more pieces together. "But you guys didn't want to talk to the cops yet, so you left the hospital before they could catch up with you."

"Guess we can't fool you," Sam said with a shrug of surrender as if Evan had forced a confession out of him.

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Reassured that none of Dean's stitches in his side were torn, Hank began expertly inserting the IV into Dean's hand. "Whatever you think you need to prove to him, you don't."

"Prove to who?" Dean asked, though he was pretty certain to whom Hank was referring to.

Looking to Dean, Hank stated, "Sam. He doesn't need you to pretend to be invincible."

Dean looked away from Hank's perceptive gaze. '_Like Sam would believe that,'_ Dean dismally thought. He had proven his flaws far too often lately for Sam to believe him anything but weak.

Surprised that Dean shied away from his statement, Hank knew that this wasn't an easy thing for Dean, to show weakness, even to Sam. "I've met my fair share of people who bail on you the second you're not as strong as they think you are, " he admitted, thinking of his father, of his fiancé, of how, when things got tough, they left him without a backwards glance. "Sam, he isn't that type."

Bringing his head up, Dean faced Hank, challenged, "What? The leaving type?"

At Dean's caustic tone, Hank felt warning bells go off in his head telling him that he had stepped over a line. "I saw how worried he was about you, Dean," he defended, daring the younger man to refute what he had seen with his own eyes.

Dean nodded, swallowed, hard. "Just because they worry…they…._care_, doesn't mean they don't leave."

Hank's gut churned at the anguish in Dean's words, the certainty, the pain. Dean knew what it felt like to be left behind, just like he did. "Yeah, they _say_ they love you…." He bitterly agreed, taping the IV in place before picking up Dean's arm, beginning to unravel the bloody bandage.

Hearing the pain, the anger of betrayal in Hank's tone, Dean watched his doctor's features. As Hank gently unwound the wrapping of his arm, Dean was in awe that the older man was showing him such gentleness, especially after all the verbal sparring they had done. "I like to think that, deciding to leave someone, it's not always the same thing as not caring about them." Suddenly, he had to contend with Hank's sharp, demanding gaze at his statement. "That just because they leave doesn't mean they don't love you…just means…"

"That they have better things to do than be with you," Hank darkly supplied.

That one hit Dean between the eyes and he shut himself down, couldn't face that unvarnished truth. He never could.

Seeing that his words had hurt the already wounded man, Hank cursed himself for bringing his own issues down on Dean. Reaching out, he gripped Dean's uninjured wrist, gave it a squeeze until Dean looked again to him. "Hey, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be dumping my own baggage on you, pretending that what you have between your brother…that I get it. But what I do know is Sam, he loves you, Dean. That he was really, really terrified he would lose you like you both lost your father."

Dean's gaze sharpened at the mention of their father. "Sam talked about our Dad?"

"Yes. I could tell he missed his father but…losing you, he wasn't going to get through that," Hank revealed, didn't doubt what he was saying, needed Dean to believe his words too, for himself, and for Sam.

Dean inhaled and loudly exhaled. "It's been…hard…this year." He snorted at his rose colored glasses statement. "And last year was no picnic either."

Hank nodded in understanding. "I know about hard years. I remember telling Evan when we were kids that the closer we stayed to each other, the better."

"How's that working out?" Dean sardonically asked, a smile of knowing turning up his lips.

Hank gave a bark of laughter. "Oh, we almost kill each other on a weekly, if not a daily basis."

"Ditto with Sam and me," Dean admitted but his smile was wide with affection and contentment.

Shaking his head, Hank knew that he and Dean, they had as much in common as he first thought. "And still, I wouldn't have it any other way. Evan and I…we weren't too close a while back. Ok, it was all me. I was….too busy, too self obsessed, didn't want a reminder of the crap that went on in our childhood." Guilt flared in him at that, the way he had shoved Evan away when his life was going perfectly on track. "And then…everything fell apart and the only person, the only person I could count on…was Evan. The person I turned my back on, did what I hated my father for doing."

Hank stilled, heard his own words, finally accept the truth. "Guess I was the one that left." Facing Dean, seeing the man's intent gaze, he apologized, "Sorry. Sorry, Dean. Didn't mean to make this a Sally Jessy Raphael moment."

"Yeah, because I only do Oprah moments and I reserve them for Sam," Dean joked back, got a laugh from his doctor for his trouble.

"Fair enough. Now, how about you tell me how you got injured?" Hank prodded, hadn't been able to stop thinking about Dean's myriad of injuries last night.

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Slipping quietly back into the room, Sam saw Dean lying still on the bed, his eyes closed, an IV taped to his hand and a IV bag hanging on the lamp by the nightstand. "He asleep?" he quietly asked, his question for Hank though he kept his eyes fixed on his brother's face.

"Yes," Hank replied.

"No," Dean mumbled, his eyes fluttering open. But it took him a moment to focus, to track Sam down in the room. Then Sam was walking toward him, his movement not all that helpful with the whole blurry image thing he had going on. Closing his eyes a moment to try and reboot his vision, he found it a struggle to reopen them. When he managed it, Sam was staring down at him with one of his goofy, warm smiles, like _he_ was the little brother.

"Not asleep, huh?" Sam softly taunted. "Dude, you're about a second away from being out like a light."

"'m not," Dean denied, hated that he was slurring his words, giving Sam more proof.

"Hey, I get it. I'm tired too," Sam sided with Dean. "Figure we can both sack out awhile." Practically able to read Dean's mind, he assured, "This afternoon I'll make some calls, do some research on the computer, see if anyone has more information on the Country Club." He almost enjoyed Dean's wide-eyed look as he mentioned the Country Club in front of Hank. But when Hank spoke, he knew he hadn't really pulled one over on Dean.

"Dean mentioned your security job at the Club. That he had gotten his injuries when he tried to confront a man that you suspected of killing one of the construction workers," Hank joined the conversation, somehow hoping that Sam would fill in the obvious blanks that Dean had left out in his own telling.

Giving a quick glance to Hank, Sam acknowledged, "Yeah," before he faced Dean again, gave a bug eyed expression of 'dude, this is worse than the interrogation the cops did in Baltimore.' Dean rolled his eyes in a 'Chill, Sam. We can handle this. We're professionals' expression.

"So how's he doing?" Sam asked of Hank, tracking the doctor's approach to his brother's side.

"Well, aside from the fact that he should be in a hospital, that he chose to not remain on bed rest this morning, and he missed the hospital's less than appetizing breakfast, he's not doing too badly." Knowing that Dean was about to boast at his words, Hank held up a finger to his patient as he continued in a more reprimanding tone, "Course he has a low grade fever, I had to restitch his arm, his blood pressure's a little lower than I like and he's refusing to take his pain medication."

Sam sighed, looked down at his brother. "Dean, you promised to take the pills." It was the few negotiation points he had won that morning when Dean insisted on checking out of the hospital.

"I agreed to take something for the pain. Not the tranquilizers he wants me to take. You know how I get on that stuff, I'll be seeing pink Impalas for a week," Dean retorted, knew that there was a pleading note to his voice and couldn't fine the energy to care.

Sam smiled at Dean's reference to the dream his brother had kept having last time he was on some heavy duty painkillers. Something about the Impala having been repainted in pink, with fuzzy pink dice hanging from the rearview mirror and a pink strip was on all the interior. Taking pity on Dean, he asked of Hank, "You have anything middle of the road he can take. Trust me when I say, him flying high on the good stuff, it's not a pretty sight."

"Thanks," Dean grumbled which only had Sam shooting him a brimming smile.

Digging around in his medical bag, Hank finally found the right bottle. Pulling it free, he shook out two capsules, was headed back to Dean's side when he realized that Sam was road-blocking him, was standing there with his hand out. Not used to having to work through a middleman, it took him a moment to concede, to accept that Sam, he wasn't budging. That Dean's brother had allowed him to cut into his brother on a lawn, to examine him and put an IV in without his supervision, but wasn't going to allow him to simply administer two painkillers to his brother. Scowling, he surrendered the two pills into Sam's hand. Then he stood there, watched as Sam carefully claimed a seat on the bed by his brother's hip.

Picking up Dean's hand, Sam tilted the pills into his brother's hand. Even as he grabbed the glass of water from the nightstand, he saw Dean toss the pills in his mouth and start to sit up a little ways. Putting his hand under Dean's shoulder to support him, he held the glass of water to Dean's lips, waited until Dean took a few healthy swallows and nodded, before he eased Dean back onto the bed.

Swiftly, Hank knew why Sam had insisted on giving his brother the pills. Sam had wanted to be the one to help his brother sit up, to be the one his brother associated with his pain easing, had wanted an excuse to get close to his brother, to reconnect after their brief separation. Needed reassurances that Dean was there, was doing OK. So busy analyzing Sam's actions, the younger man's emotions, Hank missed the man's words. "What?" he asked, saw that Sam was wearing a concerned look.

"He's warm. Is that a sign of infection?" Sam repeated, this time pressing the back of his hand to Dean's right cheek.

"Sometimes, but a slight fever can also be just a stage of healing," Hank soothed, smirked when Dean grabbed Sam's wrist and pulled his brother's hand away from his face with a glower. "If he gets some more sleep, his temperature might even out," he pointedly stated, sending his patient his best 'do what I tell you to do' stern expression.

"Nag, nag, nag," Dean shot back, but his yawn in the middle of the words spoiled their effectiveness.

Knowing that Dean wouldn't willingly fall asleep while he sat there watching him like a worried mother hen, Sam gave Dean's leg a pat then he got up slowly, made sure he didn't rock the mattress as he did so. Walking out the door, he was glad Hank took his hint and followed him. However, he was in no way prepared for the anger that Hank leveled at him after the door shut.

"You knew already last night that you were going to check Dean out AMA. Knew it when I said he would make a bad patient," Hank demanded, keeping his voice low enough to not carry through the motel door.

Sam exhaled deeply, "I knew 'get me out of here, Sammy' was going to be some of Dean's first words," too worn to bother lying.

"Well sometimes we have to say no to the people we love, to keep them safe," Hank fired back, couldn't believe Sam hadn't put his brother's health, _life_, above his brother's pride.

Sam's hackles rose at Hank's allegation that he wasn't trying to keep Dean safe, wasn't capable of it. Crowding into Hank's personal space, he menacingly bit out, "Don't tell me how to protect my own brother. You don't know the _half_ of what we've been through."

At Sam's furious indignation, Hank backed down, raised his hands in surrender. "You're right. I'm sorry. I just…last night you were so worried about him and today…today you left him walk out of the hospital, were following him out of your room when we arrived like you forget he was injured, that he nearly died last night."

For Hank, it wasn't a victory when Sam flinched at his words, looked away, clenched his jaw, seemingly not in anger but upset. Shaking his head, he stepped back, gave Sam some room, some time but couldn't keep the words in, spoke them quietly, in confusion. "Excuse me if that doesn't make any sense to me."

Sam shook his head, not in denial but frustration. How could anything he and Dean did for each other be explained anymore than what they did as their job! Biting his lip, he looked down from his vantage point to the table by the pool that Evan had claimed as his own. He startled when a hand came to rest on his shoulder, nearly retreated from the contact before he stopped himself. Hadn't realized just how closed off he had come, how much he allowed to Dean but no one else.

"I get that Dean's stubborn," Hank gently deduced. "I've seen him in action." Sam's small smile was at least not a rejection. "And I totally sympathize with how complicated family ties can be. It's easier for me to show concern to strangers than it is to Evan. So if it was a case of…"

But Sam knew it wasn't just the standard give and take between he and Dean that had him caving to any wishes Dean wanted. "I …I screwed up a while ago …" his voice rough, guilt ridden, sorry, so darn sorry. Meeting Hank's kind, understanding gaze, he knew he couldn't explain, didn't want to tell Hank he had left Dean high and dry without even a note of explanation. And he definitely couldn't tell Hank that he had gone off hunting for more of the special physic kids like him, seeking some answers, but more than that. He had wanted to establish a connection with them. '_As if you could ever have a connection with them anywhere nearly as strong as the one you have with Dean, you know, the brother you __ditched_.'

Letting his sins go unconfessed, Sam simply stated what was most important. "And I.. I can't lose the trust Dean still has in me. He asked me to help him," and that was a rarity in and of itself, Dean asking for his help. '_Like I would deny Dean that, ever_.'

Between what Dean had said and what Sam hadn't said, Hank was starting to see the picture, clearly. "And you couldn't not help him," he quietly concluded, empathized with Sam's need. He had helped Evan plenty of times simply because Evan had asked it of him. Knew that with Dean, it wouldn't be something that occurred often, if ever, him asking his brother for help, showing weakness to Sam. "Ok, that I get. I don't like it, but I get it," he granted, letting Sam off the proverbial hook. "But I gave you my card so you would call me if you needed me," he couldn't help tag on. Seeing Sam's chagrined expression, he waved off Sam's pending excuse. "Alright, fine. But going forward, you're going to follow my instructions, call me if anything changes with Dean and you're going to be here tomorrow morning at 10am when I get here."

"Tomorrow?" Sam faltered, hadn't planned on Hank's persistence to last longer than that day. Actually he hadn't expected to see him or Evan after yesterday.

"Yes, tomorrow," Hank repeated, absolutely certain that he couldn't rely on Dean to willingly follow any instructions he gave to him for his care, even if Sam stood over him threateningly. "He should have another IV bag of antibiotics and I want to check on his fever, make sure it's not spiking." His eyes latched onto Sam's until the younger man nodded his acceptance. "And I think that I know someone who might have some helpful information for your research."

"Research?" Sam frowned, had lost the train of the conversation, was too caught up imagining how badly Dean was going to take the news that Hank was coming back the next morning.

"On the Country Club and Men's Club history," Hank clarified, wasn't sure if he had Sam's attention but continued anyway. "Dean said you thought the person behind the previous attacks and the death this week might be someone who has a history with either the Country Club or the Men's Club, that they want to stop the club from re-opening."

"That's our theory right now," Sam rejoined, hated that he had to keep stumbling around, trying to figure out what direction Dean had taken their cover story and just how far his brother had gone with the truth. He was starting to realize that Dean had traveled pretty far down the path of truthfulness, had been honest where he could, but had jumped the track before they got to the '_our perp is a ghost' _conversation."We got stonewalled at the library and there aren't many articles on the internet on either club. The rich apparently take their privacy pretty darn seriously."

"Oh yeah," Hank agreed with a ready smile. "So that's why you conned your way into the Men's Club, to talk to the patrons, get some background information on their club?" Some of the pieces coming together now that hadn't before, because, Dean and Sam, they didn't seem like two guys who would crash into an exclusive, men only club when no live girls were involved.

Sam nodded sheepishly, somehow disliking the fact that Hank knew they crashed the party, were liars, conmen even. Evan had been cool with it, impressed even, but Hank, he didn't seem the type to like deception.

But Hank surprised him by smiling. "Actually I thought that party was something people devised ways to crash out of, not into. Knowing the truth, I feel slightly less worried about your mental state."

"Only slightly less worried?" Sam baited with a laugh.

"Chasing down murderers? You definitely get a few sanity points taken off for that."

'_If you only knew our true job. You would take off more than a few points_.' To Hank, Sam said aloud, "You got me there. So about this person we can talk to…"

At Sam's interest in his previous offer, Hank backpedaled, "Well, I didn't really say you could _talk_ to someone, like interview them. I know someone whose great grandfather was involved in both clubs and kept their history records."

Straightening in anticipation, Sam felt that they were finally going to get a good lead. "No that would be great. Records are sometimes a better source than interviews. You think I'll be able to review the records myself?"

"I don't see why not. I'll call Tucker and see. He's a sixteen year old who talks like a grad school alumni but he's a good kid. It's his great grandfather, Marshall Bryant, the _second_, who was the historian."

"I'm going to owe you for more than just medical services rendered," Sam drawled in gratitude. But then the truth of his statement struck him. He owed Hank for last night and today, Hank who was a doctor for the wealthy, who probably didn't take health insurance, only gold cards. "About your fees..."

Realizing where Sam's worry was emanating from, Hank cut him off gently, "You fall under our 'friends and family' package. No charge."

"No. No. We owe you, like…"Sam broke off, knew he couldn't pay Hank his going rate, knew just as surely that what he owed the other man for saving his brother's life, there wasn't enough money in the world to repay that. But he would gladly pay any price Hank asked of him in return for that gift.

"You don't owe me anything," Hank insisted emphatically. "This is what I do, Evan and I do. We help people whenever we can. The wealthy pay us for our services so I don't have to charge the people who have to earn their money the hard way: by working for it day in and day out."

"The Robin Hood of medicine?" Sam joked, but there was warm affection and gratitude in his expression.

"Yeah, I like that. But don't mention that to Evan, he'll think he's Big John."

Sam laughed and Hank joined him at the mental picture of Evan fighting someone with a stick, while on a downed tree, spanning a creek.

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From the passenger seat of the Impala, Dean studied his brother. Something was up with Sam, he could tell. "Ok, what is it?" he demanded but his tone was gentle.

"What's what?" Sam deflected, poorly, not pulling his attention from the road.

"Uh huh," Dean returned as if Sam had just provided all the proof he needed. It got him a hit and run look from his brother. "Something Hank said is bothering you."

Sam tightened his grip on the Impala's steering wheel. "You mean the part where I _promised_ him that you wouldn't move from the room, or maybe the part where he …" but he cut himself off, didn't want Dean to know Hank had reamed him out for letting him leave the hospital.

Dean liked Hank, listened to Hank and Hank…he was looking out for Dean, in ways that Sam couldn't. And if Dean thought Hank was even slightly harsh with Sam…well, Dean would naturally go on the defensive, it was inbred in him to protect Sam. So Sam altered what he was about to say.

"…he only gave me Tucker's phone number after I swore, practically on a stack of Bibles, that we wouldn't go see him tonight. That you wouldn't."

Dean understood Sam's morality, how his brother wanted to be honest with people wherever and whenever he could. Especially people they both liked. But Dean had learned the hard way that, sometimes the best practice was to lie more to the ones you cared about, not less. And that rule included quickly made friends as well as family members.

"Look Sam, we owe Hank and I like him, him and his brother," Dean admitted, wanted Sam to see that this didn't feel great for him either. "But we're running on a time limit for this case, Sam. Tomorrow is Monday and all the construction workers, painters and landscapers will be back working at the Country Club. And maybe you picked up on this vibe while the ghost was squeezing the life out of me: he's really not the type of ghost you sweet talk into heading off to the great beyond. I think that, since he's now taken a life, he's going to upgrade. No more scare tactics, tossing people off ladders and sending nails flying into legs. He'll kill from here on out."

Sighing, rolling his shoulders slightly, Sam wholly accepted what his brother was saying. "I know. We have to finish it tonight. I just wish…"

"We weren't lying to Hank, breaking his trust?"

"Yeah," Sam agreed solemnly. Knowing there wasn't a better option didn't make him feel any less guilty. Settling his eyes on Dean, worry replaced his regret. "And I wish that you were up for this. Dean, maybe I can…"

"No," Dean firmly denied. "You're not doing this alone, Sam. We've been over this."

"But you're not listening to me," Sam returned, his voice climbing with his desperation. "If your broken rib shifts again…I can't do what Hank did."

"Like I'll let you do what he did," Dean shot back, smirk in place but it faded at the serious set to Sam's features. "How many ribs have I cracked, broken, Sam, and that's never…ever happened before. It was a fluke, Sam. A one time occurrence that I can check off my to-do list."

"Like you almost dying, a fluke like that?" Sam couldn't help volley back, hands tightening again around the steering wheel, so sick of wondering if he would lose his brother, when he would lose his brother.

Confronted with Sam's stormy emotions, Dean felt his gut clench, because Sam hurting, that always got to him worse than any pain he felt himself. He wanted to do something to make it better for Sam, to reassure him that everything was going to be OK, that he was keeping his promise to not leave him…would never keep the other promise, the one he had given to his father and later to Sam. "I let some …_stranger_ cut me open on the grounds of a men's club, Sam. I let that same stranger confine me to bed and poke me with needles and lecture me, for longer than I would have let Dad do it. I think that shows my dedication to staying alive, to getting back to top form," Dean testified, knew he had done all of that for Sam, so he could stay with Sam.

Sam fought the smile that ached to break free at his brother's declaration, didn't want Dean getting off so easily for scaring the crap out of him. "He wouldn't have had to cut you open if you had told me that you were hurt, had a broken rib," he parried, but there wasn't much heat to the accusation.

"And what, you were going to get me to go to a hospital over a broken rib? Come on, Sam. Whether you knew about the rib or not, we would have still ended up at the Men's Club that night."

"Yeah because you're a stubborn jerk," Sam retorted but his smile was breaking free.

"You called?" Dean smart alecked, smiled as Sam sent a missile sighted fabricated dark look his way.

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Dean whistled as Sam pulled the Impala up beside the row of beautiful, perfect Ferraris. Opening his door, eyes fixed on the four pieces of Italian art, Dean almost startled when a hand wrapped around his right bicep, hadn't realized that Sam had streaked around the car in time to play nursemaid. "I got it," he grumbled, tried to rip his arm from Sam's grip but Sam was having none of it, had instinctively tightened his hold on his arm. His eyes colliding with the stormy gale that was his little brother, he relented, allowed Sam to help him out of the car but drew the line to letting him help him _walk._

Pacing Dean, Sam kept his eyes glued to his brother, nearly tripped up a step and saw Dean's smirk emerge. '_Jerk thought it would serve me right to trip_,' he realized, even as he knew Dean wouldn't wish any true harm to come to him, ever.

Reaching the front door of the monstrosity of glass and wood that some rich guy called a house, Dean rang the doorbell before Sam could, wanted to prove that he was still lead investigator. He almost expected a tall guy who looked like Lurch from the Addams family to answer the door, was surprised when it swung open to reveal a teenage boy whose dark hair reminded him of Sam's…on its better days. Before he could introduce them, the kid's features morphed from friendly to surprised excitement.

"Oh. My. Gosh. You're them!" Tucker Bryant sputtered in recognition, couldn't believe that the two guys Hank talked about were _these_ two guys.

"Them?" Sam asked timidly, didn't think that Hank's intro for them would lead to the excitement the kid was sporting. He was beginning to think that maybe they were either at the wrong house, ah mansion, or the kid was mistaking them for someone famous. He shared a worried look with Dean before they both turned back to the millionaire kid in front of them.

"From , that website about ghosts," Tucker enthused. "Man, I watched that video over and over. The way you guys tumbled out of that door and then the …the ghost with the axe. He nearly had you." Then Tucker froze, got an even more elated look in his eyes. "The Country Club, its haunted isn't it?"

Sam and Dean exchanged a chagrinned expression. So much for keeping a low profile.

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"You're being awfully quiet," Evan cut into the silence that permeated their living room.

"I am?" Hank deflected. He couldn't stop wondering how two strangers got him making comparisons to his Dad leaving and his own neglect of Evan. He felt shame now, thinking about all the times in the past two years that he had turned down Evan's invitation to hang out together. What Dean felt, being the one left behind, and what Sam felt, the one choosing to walk away, he could sympathize with both of them. He knew how it hurt to be abandoned and how freeing it was to leave your past behind you.

Having earned a verbal response from Hank but not his true attention, Evan mocked, "Oh, yeah. And a two word reply isn't exactly breaking the chain." Sinking into the couch beside his brother with enough oomph that Hank nearly did a bounce, he draped his arm over his brother's shoulders and drawled, "So tell Dr. Evan what's troubling you?"

Hank jabbed Evan in the side, laughed when Evan jolted instantly and retreated to the corner of the couch.

"Ok, there is marked resistance to opening up. That's going in my psych evaluation." Evan rubbed his side but purposely kept his brother's hand in sight at all times.

"Your psych eval or mine?" Hank watched Evan's face scrunch up with indecision before he answered.

"Both, I think."

Sitting there side by side, companionable silence fell. It was Evan who broke it again. "Dean was almost murdered. Murdered, dude. I mean, the people you usually help, they have medical conditions, have _accidents_. Someone trying to take your brother's life…no wonder Sam didn't want to turn this over to the police, that he wants to find this guy himself."

Hank's head swiveled to his brother. "What do you mean they didn't turn it over to the police? Dean said they filed a police report."

Evan drew a leg up on the couch so he could fully face his brother. "Funny because Sam said they didn't file a police report. That they wanted to follow up on some leads themselves first."

Hank stilled, beginning to feel he had been duped. "Follow up when?"

Evan shrugged. "He didn't say but you know, you can't let the trail go cold. A chain of evidence…" he began to quote a cop drama tv show but he broke off as Hank surged off the couch, pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and grabbed his cell phone off the kitchen counter top. He watched in consternation as his brother consulted the paper, punched in a phone number and held it to his ear presumably as it rang.

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Sam dug his ringing phone out of his pocket but one look at the caller ID and he was shooting Dean a flustered look. "It's Hank."

"Was this guy a truancy officer in a previous life or what?" Dean grumbled, snatching Sam's phone and clicking it off just as Tucker re-entered the room, bearing a couple photo albums.

"So we can use the photo album like a mug shot book, right?" Tucker suggested, couldn't believe he was part of a real ghost hunt.

"Yeah, something like that," Dean allowed smiling at the teenager. "So are your parents going to be cool with this, us here looking through your family's heirlooms?" He honestly didn't want this kid in trouble, liked him too much. Tucker wasn't the spoiled rich kid that he had pictured, not at all.

"My mom's dead so it's only my dad and he's gone for the summer," Tucker quietly announced, kept his face averted to the pictures, didn't want to see the looks of pity.

Sam exchanged a look with Dean, saw that the words effected his brother as much as they did him. He wasn't surprised when Dean gently commiserated with Tucker. He had come to realize that his brother was a sucker, not only for kid brothers, but for kids in general.

"Yeah, we lost our mom when we were young. And our dad.." Dean's voice shook on the word, but since Tucker's eyes had snapped up to hold his, he forced himself to continue. "He wasn't the stay at home type, was out…traveling a lot."

Tucker nodded, smiled a sad smile, glad that these two men, two ghost hunting, brave men, didn't think he was a loser because his dad had dumped him on his own for most of the summer. Or a wuss for feeling a bit dejected about it, for not treating that freedom like most teenagers would…with wild parties every night.

Seeing that even the mention of his father had changed Tucker's excited demeanor, Dean began to tease, hoping to cheer up the kid, "Course we didn't have a maid to clean up after us, a chef to make our meals.."

"Less you consider Chef Boyardee," Sam interjected, earning a chuckle from Tucker.

Dean couldn't help but add, "And our accommodations… " his eyes swept the expansive room decorated with thousands of dollars worth of famous painting and movie memorabilia."Let's just say they weren't quite up to your standards here, was more Dirtiest Motels in America than MTV's Cribs."

Tucker smiled wider at Dean's humor. "I admit, it's not the harshest way to live."

"And the Ferarris?" Dean pointed toward the driveway, smiled brashly. "I like your dad's style."

"Me too," Tucker admitted with a wide, not so innocent smile. "Your ride, it's not too shabby either," he allowed, though, in truth, he had watched the car coming up the driveway in awe.

Dean smiled warmly because the way to his heart, it surely was the Impala. "It was my Dad's. Guess both our Dad's have their good points."

"Yeah, they do," Tucker quietly acknowledged, his thoughts on his Dad, on the way his Dad always returned bearing gifts. Flipping open an album, he began pouring over it, missed the visual exchange between the brothers.

Sam shot Dean a look of pride, but couldn't help but also mingle a mocking scoff of 'you big softie Dean' into the mix.

Dean merely shrugged at Sam's taunt, didn't even try to defend himself. So he liked the kid. So he felt a bond with him because they both knew what it was like to grow up taking care of themselves, to deal with wayward fathers. Suddenly his hand shot out, dropped onto the photo album page Tucker was about to turn.

With wide eyes, Tucker turned the photo album around so Dean could see it right side up, watched with held breath as the ghost hunter picked up the album and focused on one picture in particular on the page. "Is that the guy…the ghost?"

Without answering, Dean handed the book to Sam, tapped the black and white photo of a man in the center of a group of three men. "Add about ten years, some serious decomposition, and grossness..what do you think?"

Sam pulled the book closer, tilted his head in concentration. Stilling a moment, he then raised his eyes to his brother. "I'ld pick him out of a line up as our guy."

Snatching the album back, Dean carefully pulled the picture off the matting and flipped it over. "We got three names. If they are in order, our guy's Horace McGillicutty."

Itching to follow the lead, Sam moved to the edge of his seat. "So we go back to the motel and check for obits on the internet for Horace McGillicutty, see where he's buried…if he's buried."

"You can use my computers," Tucker readily offered, no way wanting the two men to leave, for his part of the adventure to end.

"Computers," Sam asked, had caught the plural of the noun with something akin to eagerness and jealousy.

"Yeah, they are in my room. Come on," Tucker said, getting up and heading up the stairs, feeling like he was part of a crime unit, was Dean and Sam's researcher and now their tech support.

Internally, Dean sighed at the two levels of stairs ahead of him, felt Sam came to a stop by his shoulder.

"Why don't you stay down here, see if you can find out more information on Horace in the other books," Sam suggested, hoped he didn't come off sounding too mother hen like. Found himself praying that, for once, Dean took his good advice and acknowledged his body's weakness.

Looking over his shoulder to Sam, Dean incredulously countered, "And miss what's on floor number two of this place? I wouldn't be surprised if they assembled an Aston Martin up there." Then he strode for the stairs, already gritting his teeth in dread of the pain to come.

Before Dean's foot hit the first stairs, Sam came to Dean's side and slipped his arm around his brother's back. Not batting an eyelash at Dean's glare, he retorted, "Hank will tear me a new one if any of your stitches are ripped."

"Your concern for me is touching," Dean sarcastically replied even as he knew that Sam's guiding, gentle grip on him didn't have a thing to do with Hank's over zealous brand of doctor-patient responsibilities.

Feeling the tremble in his brother's frame as they maneuvered up the stairs side by side, Sam cinched himself closer to Dean and took more of his brother's weight. Deciding now was a great time to distract Dean from the obvious pain he was in, he announced, "Hank's coming by tomorrow morning to check on you."

"Wait. What?" Dean stammered, head snapping toward Sam, hoping his brother was pulling his leg.

"Maybe you've noticed but Hank taking no for an answer is like expecting you to accept a no," Sam defended himself.

"I take no from you…" Dean protested.

Sam broke into a scoffing laugh. "When?"

Before Dean made a reply, they crested the top of the stairs. Instantly, Dean stepped out of his little brother's hold and Sam had to let him go. Following Dean into the room ahead, he noticed the slight hitch to his brother's walk and found himself torn on whether or not he wanted to find anything useful on Horace McGillicutty. He didn't need Hank's medical degree to know that Dean was hurting, that he shouldn't go up against the ghost that had nearly killed him again so soon. '_But like I said, when has Dean ever accepted no as an answer from anyone. Anyone other than Dad, that is. Dad, I never thought I'll say this but I miss the way you could give Dean a command and he would obey it. I wish he listened to me just once in awhile, you know, when his stupid life is at stake.' _

Crossing into the room's threshold behind Dean, Sam was suddenly distracted from his worry by Tucker's computer _network_. He fought the desire to whistle in appreciation like Dean had for the Ferraris. He sank down in the chair in front of the eight computers, and let his hand hover over the keyboards as if they were too sacred to touch.

"I think Sammy's in love," Dean chuckled, enjoying the sight of Sam's kid like awe. Scanning the room, he admired the collection of arcade machine games Tucker had accumulated.

Tucker was glowing under Sam's approval of his collection. "Dad has his Ferraris and I have my computers. Dude, it's what American Express black cards are for."

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"They aren't answering," Hank gritted out, cutting off the call.

"Yeah, so?" Evan wasn't sure what had Hank so keyed up. But had enough experience with his brother's stubbornness to know that Hank would tell him only if he wanted to. Dean wasn't the only tight-lipped older brother in town.

"Ssssoooo, they promised they wouldn't leave the room, that Dean wouldn't leave the room."

"Then call the motel room."

"I just did, Evan. No answer."

"Alright, doesn't mean they aren't there, that Dean isn't there. He could be taking a shower…" But when a look of alarm flittered across his brother's features, he knew he had said the wrong thing. "Or not. Maybe he's asleep. You know the pain meds these day can really.."

"He wouldn't sleep through a phone ringing, not with the painkillers he took," Hank refuted, beginning to pace.

"Ok, so they left the room, took a walk on the veranda, went poolside, it's not like Dean was on his deathbed Hank."

Spinning around to Evan, Hank snapped, "Why don't you let the medical diagnosis up to me, Ev."

Raising his hands, Evan backed down, "Fine, you don't have to bite my head off." He was heading for the door when Hank blocked his path, wearing an expression of repentance.  
"I'm sorry, Evan. I'm just…" Hank ran his hand through his hair, couldn't quite explain it. Dean and Sam were two strangers, men he had met only yesterday. "They got to me, OK," he admitted in frustration. "They remind me too much of us."

"Dean does have my wit and Sam your serious demeanor…" Evan deadpanned, tried to lighten his brother's mood.

Not even protesting Evan's comparisons, Hank quietly professed, "But it's more than that."

Nodding, Evan solemnly affirmed, "I know. You and I ..we don't make a lot of friends."

"We have always been each other's friends," Hank finished, knew that pattern in them both, it was his doing. He had always told Evan that they could only trust each other, that if they needed something, they should turn to each other first, always first. "And Dean and Sam, it's the same way for them. They have each other but…"  
"No one else to count on," Evan concluded, knew what that felt like first hand. He wasn't prepared to read regret in his brother's features.

"I've made us resistant to let people in, to trust anyone. Divya's gotten beyond our barriers only because she wouldn't take no for an answer."

"She's stubborn like that. Also because she's exactly like us. She's got her family…and she's got us, Hank. We're three peas in a pod."

At the revelation, Hank shook his head, knew that Evan was more perceptive than he gave him credit for, decided to stop short changing that trait in his brother right then. "You don't believe Sam and Dean just went for a walk, do you? And you don't think they are putting their investigation on hold until Dean heals up?"

"Ah….no," Evan firmly broke his brother's bubble of denial, watched as Hank stalked across the room in aggravation. "Henry, people are dying and it's their job to stop it. I think you of all people should understand the need to help people, save people."  
"I don't do it at the risk of my life, or your life!" Hank nearly shouted back, angry that Sam hadn't listened to a thing he had said earlier. He couldn't believe Sam was risking Dean's life, especially considering the undeniable need the younger man had to keep his brother with him.

"Don't you?" Evan quietly challenged, saw the way Hank's eyes flew to his in surprise. "You don't think everything through, Hank. You see someone hurting and you go, you help them. And you drag me into it..Ok, willingly. But still, all you think about is helping people. It's the reason what happened in New York happened."

Hank turned statue still at Evan's words, at his brother's irrefutable evidence. "I…the kid…he was dying."

Though Evan's intentions were to get Hank to see things from another perspective, he knew that he had hurt his brother in the process. Cursing his runaway tongue, he came to Hank's side, gave his brother's shoulder a squeeze and met his eyes. "I know and it was the right thing to do. Maybe not for you, for your career…but for that kid, it was the right thing to do. Dean and Sam, I think they react the same way. They see a need and they go fill it. No matter the consequences for themselves. Maybe it's the curse of brother run businesses, to develop reckless, humanitarian tendencies," he joked, saw Hank's mask of self rebuke crack into a begrudging smile.

Patting Evan on the chest, Hank felt his anger abate and his ability to identify with Sam and Dean's obstinacy to finish their job grow. "For a younger brother, you're very wise. Now grab your coat and let's go."

"Go? Go where?" Evan stammered, lost to where his pep speech was about to take them. However, he obediently grabbed his coat and followed his brother toward the door.

"Where else? To the Hampton's Country Club," Hank called over his shoulder.

'_Me and my big mouth_,' Evan chastised as he tagged behind his brother. "Wait, Hank. I think this is way beyond our field of expertise. I mean way, way, wwwwaaayyy beyond."

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"Huh," Sam offered up as he stared at the computer screen above him, consulted the one directly to his right and then tapped the screen to his left.

"Huh, what?" Dean prodded from across the room where he was taking inspection of all the cool stuff Tucker had snagged from a dying age of arcade games.

Turning on his teacher, let me enlighten you tone, Sam spun his chair around, faced Dean and shared, "Horace McGillicutty died on October 24th, 1962 during a hurricane." Loved getting Dean's raised eyebrow expression of bewilderment.

"A hurricane? Hurricane? That's a new one for us," Dean surmised, crossing over to look at the computer screens Sam had up.

Tucker sat on the couch, had raptly watched Sam hacking through websites and Dean throwing out remembrances of his best scores on each arcade game in the room. "Is a hurricane a bad sign? Do they create a lot of unsettled spirits?"

"It ain't a good sign," Dean drawled, hands resting on the back of Sam's chair, lips beginning to move as he picked an article to read. "Cremated," he growled as if it were a curse word.

"Yeah, I was getting to that part," Sam replied and he pointed to one of the top screens. "Here's the news article about the hurricane and the deaths that occurred. They don't give details of how each died exactly, or locations of where the bodies were found."

"Ok, but we know that Horace, he can't just go anywhere, has been only sighted two places: The Country Club and the Men's Club," Dean brain stormed.

"So he's got a tie to them. We know he was a member of the Country Club.." Sam joined in.

"Ah, no he wasn't," Tucker disagreed, eyes on a page of an old ledger book. Raising his eyes, he saw that he had garnered both of his visitors' sharp attention. He swallowed nervously at the pressure to be right. "Membership lists for both clubs are listed here and Horace is only a member of the Men's Club." At Sam's reaching hand, he relinquished the book, studied the top of the man's bowed head.

Confirming what Tucker had already said, Sam met Dean's eyes. "Ok, so that explains why he was sighted at the Men's Club first. So how did he get to the Country Club?"

"He sure didn't take a cab," Dean grumbled, hated when things went south just when he thought things were going their way. "Seems like a cursed object."

Sam shrugged, "Good a theory as any."

"Trouble is, they've been moving in stuff for the club for over a month now, not to mention historical fixtures that they installed to ensure the building went back onto the historical register. Lots of stuff that Horace could be clinging to." Claiming a seat beside Tucker, Dean picked up a book, dusted it off and began paging though, discovered that it was a record of meeting minutes for the Men's Club.

Within seconds Dean had found the entry for the next date after the hurricane, began to read, "November 5, 1962, minutes for Hampton Men's Club came to order." Then he started to skim the entry, "Blah blah blah, 'pray for our community in light of the tragedy', blah blah blah. More ramblings …whoa. Now we're getting somewhere." Again he read from the minutes verbatim, "As to our personal loss, we reserved a moment of silence for Horace McGillicutty, who lost his life trying to preserve this very building against nature's fury. And all members unanimously voted to restore the grand piano which Horace treasured most of all."

Dean's bright eyes swung up to Sam's.

"The piano in the Country Club," the brothers spoke in unison, coming to the conclusion simultaneously like they so often did.

"Wait, I'm not following. What about the piano?" Tucker asked, eyes swiveling from Sam to Dean and back again.

Sam leaned forward patiently and explained to the teenager, "Some spirits cling to earthly things and that's how they remain here. Horace is tied to the piano, his piano."

"Which they restored," Tucker said, wanting to get this, to prove himself to the two men.

"And placed in the Country Club," Dean took up the tale. Slowly, he stood up, frustrated that his body had stiffened up after the small reprieve he had allowed it.

"We salt and burn the piano and Horace goes away," Sam finished, coming out of the computer chair, anxious to get the hunt wrapped up.

"I'll get some salt and matches," Tucker excitedly announced. He was half way out of the room when two vetoes erupted behind him.

"Tucker, you've been a lot of help but …" Sam gently began his refusal.

Dean's denial, given in a tone of regret but no give, overshadowed Sam's soft approach. "Sorry kid, but you're not going." But Dean felt his heart ache at Tucker's crestfallen appearance, reminded him too much of one of little Sammy's expressions. Coming to a stop in front of Tucker, he smiled down at the kid, put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "We wouldn't have figured this out without you."

"You mean without my great grandfather's books," Tucker dejectedly returned, irked at Dean's patronization.

"Books that you allowed us to look through," Dean emphasized earnestly. "And you had the idea for us to look through the photo albums and try and find our ghost. Not to mention you're the one that discovered that Horace's membership was for the Men's Club. I hate to admit it, especially with Sam listening, but researching is …like…75% percent of this job. If we can't put the pieces together, quickly, more people get hurt, maybe even get killed."

Tucker's emotions swung the other way on the pendulum, his dejection now transformed to nearly a blinding level of pleasure. He had been helpful to them, to Dean and to Sam, not just because of the resources of his family and his wealth, but for his insight, his mind. "Dean, I…" he stammered, his usual college level vocabulary failing him in light of Dean and Sam's pride in him.

Smiling, Dean promised, "If you want, we can come by tomorrow. We'll tell you how long it takes for a grand piano to go up in smoke and how Horace took our disrespect for his love of music."

Tucker nodded, his pleasure fading a little in the knowledge that he was getting sidelined, that the real action, he wouldn't be part of. '_Story of my life. Because of this stupid blood disorder I have, if anything even remotely exciting happens, someone always shoves me into a corner like I'm four years old, like I need to be protected from everything..'_ It made him briefly wonder if Hank had told them about his condition, but soon discounted it. It was his age that was the culprit this time for his exclusion in the excitement, he could read that in Sam's eyes.

"See ya tomorrow Tucker," Sam kindly bade as he followed Dean out of the room, leaving the seventeen year old behind. Striding a few steps hurriedly down the hallway, he resumed the same supportive hold on Dean as they began to descend the stairs. "Lying to Hank and Evan and now shutting that kid down, none of this feels great," he quietly admitted.

"Would it feel better if that kid came along tonight and got hurt?" Dean asked just as quietly, his tone surprisingly without ridicule. "And what were you going to tell Hank? That I bailed on the hospital because my insurance is bogus? That I can't kick back at the motel because we have to stop a homicidal ghost before he racks up another kill? If he didn't send us both off to the looney bin, he might turn us in for insurance fraud," Dean rationalized, didn't like the way defeat slipped onto Sam's features. He wished almost as much as Sam did that they could be honest, upfront with the people they met on their jobs, that the truth didn't put people in danger. Fox Mulder was right, the truth was out there. Trouble was, it could get you killed.

Sam exhaled, knew that Dean was right, that they were only doing what they had to do in order to protect Tucker and Hank and Evan. That, sometimes, the best way to shelter people from evil was to lie to them, to deceive them. '_To not let anyone get close to me,_' he personalized, couldn't stop feeling that he was a curse, had gotten the people he loved killed, would get Dean killed too.

"Hank wouldn't turn us in," Sam defended as they reached the bottom of the stairs and walked out the door. As Dean made his move to slip out of his hold, Sam stepped in front of his brother's path, met Dean's eyes head on. "And you know what will make me feel better, Dean?" Sam asked, didn't wait for Dean to make a smart aleck guess before he continued, "You not getting yourself hurt worse than you already are. So this time, instead of having a hug fest with Horace, how about you shoot him in the face with rocksalt."

Dean rolled his eyes. Side stepping his mothering brother, he headed for the Impala, but his eyes traitorously snuck an adulterous glance at the Ferraris.

Slipping by Dean so close their shoulders touched, Sam murmured, "If I saw that look, so did the Impala, Dude. Haven't you heard that thing about a scorned woman…"

Over the top of the Impala, Dean's eyes lanced into his brother's with a wicked gleam of humor. "As if you have room to talk. Least I just have wondering eyes. When your laptop hears that you cheated on her, were very _hands on_ with another keyboard…"

Sam chuckled as his brother's humor. "Shut up jerk."

Laughing, Dean gave the Impala roof a careful pat and ordered, "Get in, adulterer. We have a piano to torch and a ghost to kill."

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TBC

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Hope you're still enjoying the story! And I loved every single review from last chapter. Thanks for encouraging me to keep plugging along on this story.

Also, sorry about the confusion about the story showing complete in error! I must have clicked when I should have tabbed.

Have a great day!

Cheryl


	4. Chapter 4

Pro Bono

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Royal Pains or Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: Cross over with Royal Pains (1st Season) and Supernatural (2nd Season.) While working a case in the Hamptons, the Winchesters cross paths with 2 brothers running their own sometimes pro bono family business, proving that sometimes the best things in life are free.

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Chapter 4

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As Hank pulled his car to a halt in the empty Hampton's Country Club parking lot, Evan rambled away in relief, "No gleaming black classic car. Guess we have to leave, look elsewhere for our wayward friends. Maybe they went to Tucker's, or out to eat or…."

But Hank was shaking his head. "No, you were right. They wouldn't give up their investigation, not if it put people at risk. They'll show up here," he assured as he got out of the car.

"Great timing for you to believe I'm right…" Evan grumbled under his breath but followed his big brother's lead, fell into step with Hank as they headed for the Country Club entrance. "I'm going to take this time to remind you that we're not in the security business, we don't make house arrests…we make house calls, Hank."

His eyes taking in the impressive architectural design of the club house, Hank distractedly replied, "I thought you wanted us to expand our services, be everything for everyone. For an additional fee, of course," he tacked on as he smiled at his brother, enjoyed Evan's eyeroll before he bounded up the stairs, tested the club's doors. He was surprised when the knob turned in his hand and the door swung open, didn't notice that Evan froze on the bottom step.

"I have a bad feeling about this, Hank. I really do," Evan drawled, hoped that his brother would accept that he was right again, that he was on a roll of rightness.

Hearing the tinge of fear in his little brother's voice, Hank couldn't help but react. Turning around, he saw the way Evan's eyes skittered around the building, the landscape and darted to the dark depths of the interior through the open door. Coming down the stairs, he stopped in front of Evan, met his brother's wild eyes. "I just want to take a quick look inside, make sure Dean isn't in there and then we'll wait in the car."

Hank was using his big brother tone on him, was offering up the 'I'll take care of you little brother' reassurances that had been Evan's staple as a kid. But he wasn't a kid anymore, so Evan shrugged, "Sure, no problem. I'll check the outside," but a hand coiled around his forearm stopping his strategic retreat.

"With a possible murderer running around, no, we're staying together," Hank mandated, giving Hank's arm a pull.

"Well, now that you put it that way, I feel real calm," Evan shot back but let Hank drag him up the stairs. But at the threshold of the doorway, he shivered, tried to talk reason into his brother even as Hank was already five paces into the room. "You sure this isn't crossing some patient doctor confidentiality, me tagging along."

"Evan," Hank growled in warning and he smiled as he suddenly was joined by his brother, right at his side, nearly climbing onto his back like he had in that one haunted house they had been through when they were in elementary school. Shooting Evan a smug smile, he joked, "I promise, if someone tries to hurt you…I'll patch you back up again… with very little of the exorbitant costs that my accountant would normally insist I charge."

"Oh great, that's so reassuring. Now I know that even when I'm on my death bed you won't be taking my last wishes seriously, " Evan snapped back which earned a chuckle from his brother.

"What last wishes? To overcharge people?"  
"No, to die rich."

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Watching Sam shift the two bags on his shoulder, Dean grumbled from behind, "If you let me carry one of the bags, your shoulder wouldn't be killing you."

Instead of rehashing their earlier argument, of again pointing out to his stubborn idiot of a brother that he wasn't going to let him carry twenty pounds of weapons and equipment on a two mile hike across the sand, Sam nonchalantly stated over his shoulder, "My shoulder's fine, Dean."

"Yeah, sure it is," Dean muttered, shaking his head at his little brother's stubbornness. But suddenly found himself mesmerized by the sight of the ocean to their right, the sound of the waves crashing onto the beach, the sky that was starting to light up with stars and a sliver of a moon. "Nice night for a walk on the beach, huh? No crowds, no druggies having a bonfire."

"Oh yeah, just a ghost to deal with. Perfect beach activity," Sam retorted, couldn't feel as cheery as Dean apparently was, not when he knew he was putting Dean in danger, that Hank would be pissed if he knew, that he himself was pissed that he couldn't stand up to Dean, just selfishly put his brother's health above strangers, that he could not find a way to not care if someone got hurt tomorrow in the country club as long as it wasn't his brother.

Hearing the edge of frustration in Sam's voice, Dean called out, "Would you slow down," knew that his vulnerable appeal would bring Sam to a halt but wasn't quite prepared for how sudden a halt.

"Whoa," Sam sputtered as he reached out, grabbed Dean before his brother ran right into him.

"I told you to slow down, Sam, not stop," Dean reprimanded but with little heat as he stood there a moment, waited until Sam slid his hands from their possessive grip on him.

Reluctantly, Sam released Dean, stood there and waited for Dean to tell him to suck it up, that this was their life, that they were made to do this, to take the risks, to play the hero and sometimes…all the time, that was a dangerous pursuit. He wasn't at all prepared when Dean reached out, latched onto his bicep and turned him to the right, to see the ocean, to experience the night time landscape, the sheer awe of it.

"We don't get many chances to see stuff like this Sam," Dean quietly stated, his shoulder brushing Sam's as they viewed the wonder of the nature. "To appreciate it. Nature's usually trying to kill us, you know?" he laughed and Sam light laughter joined in before they fell silent again, reveled in the beauty of the world, of being alive, together.

"Is that why you want to go to the Grand Canyon?" Sam quietly asked, couldn't look at Dean, wasn't sure what he would see but thought it might break his heart.

Dean knew he could get away with a smart aleck comment, about it being one of the seven wonders of the world, about it being an impressive whole in the ground. But Sam was asking for truth and that was something he owed Sam after the lies he had uttered for so long. "Nothing has corrupted it, not yet. Not man, not nature…not even God's messed with it lately. It's just…there, breathtaking, the same as it was for hundreds of years. It just looks….untainted, you know. And in our lives…" he broke off swallowed, could sense Sam's head turning, his brother watching him as intently as he had the ocean a moment ago. "I guess I just want to know something pure is still out there, that it's not all….loss and sacrifices and compromises."

Sam nodded, a catch in his throat. Didn't think Dean caught the gesture, his brother's eyes fixated longingly on the ocean, like he wanted to get in and swim away. Didn't know how to tell Dean he still believed in good, in something being untainted, pure. That he didn't have to go to the Grand Canyon to see it, was looking at it right now, saw it across the leather interior of a classic car every day.

Shooting Sam a look to make sure his brother didn't think he was a total useless, wuss, Dean was blindsided by the affection in his brother's eyes. Knew in an instant that they were headed for a big chick flick moment that he couldn't deal with right then, not and stay locked down like he needed to for the job ahead. "Oh, no, don't even think about it Sam."

The warning caught Sam off guard, had him blinking back his tears, stammering, "About what?"

"We are not having some …some blanket bingo conversation about our feelings. What we're going to do is gank a ghost and tomorrow we're going to recount to Tucker our greatest hits of our most daring exploits," Dean announced, giving Sam a shove to turn around, to start heading again toward their designation.

As if his melancholy had rolled out with the latest wave, Sam found himself smiling at his brother's aversion to hearing how much he meant to him. "And what about Hank? If you get one scratch on you tonight, he'll know it and I..I'm not taking the heat for it. You're on your own."

"Glad to know you're scared of a preppy Doctor McGyver," Dean snorted, now walking at Sam's side since his brother had abandoned his head long pace up the beach.

Sam smiled knowingly at Dean. "Yeah, like you weren't jumping to every time Hank ordered you to do something. Admit it, you're scared he'll rip you a new one tomorrow if he thinks for a second you didn't stay tucked in bed last night."

"Scared? Really, you think I'm scared of Hank? You are delusional, Sammy. Totally delusional," Dean denied, shaking his head at the absurdity of what Sam was proposing.

"Yeah, then prove it. Tomorrow, you tell Hank you defies his orders, you tell him what you did tonight. I dare you," Sam goaded, loved the way Dean's eyebrows rose at the challenge.

"You dare me?"

"Yup."

"You know I would but we have rules against that, Sammy. We do what we do and we shut up about it," Dean shot back, proud of himself for thinking of a valid excuse not to bring the wrath of one Hank Lawson, MD down on his head.

Sam's reply was delivered with mocking laughter. "Yeah. Great time to remember that handy rule. You're a chicken, Dean."

"Am not," Dean groused, stalking faster on the sand.

"Are to, man. You are to," Sam laughingly refuted.

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Assigning himself lock pick duty, Sam purposefully put the two bags he carried down between the country club's back door and his own crouched position to obstruct Dean from hefting them himself. He made quick work of the lock and pushed the door open. At which time Dean demonstrated his displeasure at his coddling by pushing by him, making a big deal about stepping over the bags and entering the club, all before Sam could even stand up.

"You're welcome," Sam said under his breath as he pulled the none too light bags back onto his shoulder, which, for the record, was aching like crazy, and stepped into the club and shut the door. Dean, with a flashlight in his mouth, was already bypassing the electric alarm system that they figured they had roughly thirty seconds to disarm. Dean did it in fifteen.

Sitting the bags down in the middle of the small corridor, Sam unzipped the one, handed Dean his favorite shotgun and rocksalt loaded rounds before arming himself. Then he picked up the second bag, exchanged a look with his brother before they moved out together, guided by their flashlights, because, though night was just falling, the interior of the club was being to be enveloped in darkness.

Stealthily, they cut through the kitchen and headed toward the guest areas of the renovated club. Though their last visit had been during the wee hours of the morning with sunlight beginning to stream through the countless windows, neither man faltered as they maneuvered through the large mansion, each having committed the layout to memory, knew that, their goal, the piano was on the west side, arguably the furthest distance from their entry point. Things were never easy.

Sam was on high alert, determined that, unlike last time, the ghost wouldn't get the drop on them, on Dean. Using his long legs to advantage, he stalked ahead of Dean as they neared the corridor that lead to the reception area of the club, took lead as they funneled into the most defenseless area of the mansion. He ignored Dean's hissed "control freak" at his back. Dean could protest all he liked to his "mothering"…as long as he stayed in one piece.

The shattering of glass was like a sonic boom in the quiet enclosure of the club. Determining that it was coming from ahead, Sam broke out into a run, leading with his shotgun. Coming out of the corridor with his finger pressing the trigger, he strategized that his aim would be dead on to the source of the breaking glass.

"No!" Dean shouted, pounding up behind Sam, more paces behind than he counted on being. But still close enough to knock Sam's gunsight to the ceiling, to save Evan Lawson from a rocksalt bath like he had once gotten at Sam's hands. Then there were a jumble of voices, all from very much alive, very undead people.

"What are you doing here?" Sam thundered, shaken that he had almost shot Evan, albeit with rocksalt.

"Whoa, man, whoa! It's us, the good guys," Evan shouted, hands raised to the ceiling as if he were part of an old western bank robbery.

"Are you crazy! I'm not sure which is more crazy, that you are here," this Hank directed to Dean before he slid his heated gaze to Sam, "or that you shoot before you know who you're shooting at!"

"Let's get this straight. The people who shouldn't be here is you two!" Dean accused, couldn't believe a couple of civilians had walked into their hunt. Civilians that he had absolutely no intentions of telling the truth to. Tonight…or tomorrow.

Then a figured flickered into the space between the two sets of brothers and he spoke directly to Dean. "I told you, you're kind doesn't belong here."

Anticipating Horace McGillicutty's attack on Dean, Sam, realizing that a rocksalt volley would go through Horace and pepper Hank, he dodged in front of Dean and swung his rifle through the ghost like a baseball bat, praying that the salt in the shotgun rounds would repel him.

The ghost flickered out as quickly as he had appeared.

"Tell me I'm seeing things, tell me I didn't just see a ghost," Evan rambled, taking a few steps back even as Hank took a few steps forward, reached his hands out where Horace had been seconds before.

"What…what did we just see? Was that, it was, wasn't it? A ghost," wonder and disbelief mingled in Hank's words.

Sam and Dean exchanged glances, had done this dance enough to know the steps. Instinctively Sam followed Evan on his retreat and Dean confronted Hank.

Grabbing Evan's arm before the man could do what his eyes were saying he wanted to do, bolt, Sam soothingly began, "Everything is going to be fine. We'll just get you outside, and you'll be safe."

Dean's response to Hank's question was a little sharper than his brother's had been to Evan. "Yeah and he's not the nice invite-you-for-a-brandy type. So you need to get your brother out of here, now!" Dean ordered, knew exactly what buttons to push for Hank, the same ones that worked on him. And it snapped Hank out of his awe, his speech about the possibilities of such things existing, put him into big brother mode.

"Will he let us go?" Hank demanded, Dean's order having put his focus on the most important thing: getting Evan out of there unharmed.

"We're about to find out," Dean calmly stated, his tone conveying strength instead of fear. Hooking his arm onto Hank's elbow, he steered him back to the front entrance which was only a few feet away, saw Sam was already leading Evan ahead of them. It was par for the course that the door wouldn't open under Sam's pull and that there was the sound of a table moving across the hardwood floor behind them.

Spinning around, Dean emptied a rocksalt round into the shimmering outline of Horace and the table stilled in the middle of the foyer. "Sam," he called over his shoulder, urging Sam to hurry up with the escape plan. Using his shotgun butt, Sam went to smash the window beside the door…but the blow didn't even crash the glass, instead resounded back on Sam like he had hit steel.

"Windows won't even break Dean," Sam announced, changing positions with Dean as Dean came forward. Knowing that trying the door was useless, Dean was about to ram his shoulder into it but his charge never really made it out of the gate.

Stepping into Dean's path, Hank caught the other man by the shoulders, angrily accused, "Are you insane?"

Dean sighed, hoped that they had avoided the whole insanity thing since Hank had seen Horace with his own eyes.

"You'll rip out your stitches, maybe shift your ribs and internally bleed to death before the ghost even takes another swing at you. Here let me," Hank continued, pushing Dean aside and slamming his shoulder into the door. He gained nothing but a fierce jarring pain that emanated from his shoulder and resonated throughout his whole body.

Dean was stunned into silence at Hank's diatribe as well as his take charge attitude, leaving Sam to take up the mantle of lead hunter.

"Ok, so none of us are leaving until the piano is burned," Sam accepted, eyes shifting to Dean, watched as Dean nodded in agreement but was still warily shooting looks to Hank. Sam would have smiled under better circumstance at Dean's reaction to someone else taking care of him besides his mothering little brother.

"Wait, did you just say something about burning a piano. Dude, maybe you've had your eyes closed for the last five minutes but there's an honest to …well not goodness but a real ghost around here," Evan pointed out, wondered if the house was like stepping into a cloud of whacky weed, that they were all on something. He kinda hoped so.

"We noticed and the only way to get rid of him is to burn his piano," Dean clarified, regrouped enough to regain his lead position.

"I'm going to forego the obvious 'how does burning a piano get rid of a ghost' topic and go for, let's find the piano already," Hank said, ready to accept about anything right then.

Dean raised his eyebrows and tilted his head at Hank's frankness. "I'm down with that. Sam you stick with them, devise a little distraction while I go for the piano." And he reached out for the other bag that Sam carried, the one holding the lighter fluid, salt and matches.

But Hank intercepted the brothers' pass. "Alone? No, I'll go with you," Hank insisted, already shouldering the bag. "Evan stay close to Sam."

"In his pocket, it that too close?" Evan replied, sliding closer to Sam as he spoke.

But Dean was reaching for the bag Hank had snagged, was growling out orders. "Hank you're staying with Sam too. Horace isn't gonna be happy when I torch his favorite thing in the world."

"Which is why you need someone to have your back," Hank pointed out, not backing down.

"I can take care of myself," Dean shot back indignantly.

"Maybe that's true…if you weren't already injured, if you hadn't just about died yesterday," Hank countered but his tone was gentle, his eyes were sincere and concerned. "Either you let me go with you or all four of us go together. I'm not going to accept anything else."

"You stubborn idiot. We're talking about a ghost that's injured a lot of people, who killed someone," Dean hissed, couldn't believe Hank didn't know what he was risking, how serious a matter this was.

"Who almost killed you, right?" Hank asked, but his eyes shot to Sam, saw the confirmation when Sam paled at his question. Turning back to Dean he adopted a more persuasive, logical tone, "We're here and we can't leave. I can't get my brother out of here until this ghost is gone so let me be of some help. I'll hold your flashlight, blow on the fire to keep it burning, whatever you need me to do."

Knowing that Dean was going to crumble under Hank's logic, Sam smirked, was caught in the act by Dean and smirked harder.

"What you can do is shut up and stick close," Dean ungraciously conceded. Then, sparing a glance to Sam that ordered him to be careful, he began heading toward the banquet room to their left. He could sense Hank's slight hesitation before the doctor was at his heels. "This is the stupidest thing you could have done, coming here."

Having given Evan a reassuring look, Hank joined Dean in time for the lecture. "Funny, I was told the stupidest thing I had done was choose to save a boy's life over a hospital board member's." That earned him a surprised glance over Dean's shoulder but the man didn't make a reply to his comeback. "So this is what you do for a living. It explains your innumerable scars and your high tolerance for pain."

"Chicks dig scars," Dean couldn't help volley back, trying hard to focus on the dark interior ahead more than the man's words, his perceptiveness.

"Maybe but you have to stay alive long enough to let your wounds heal over into scars. Coming here tonight, knowing what you were up against, you have to know how foolish that was, that it put not only your life in jeopardy but Sam's," Hank couldn't help but point out, was always irate when someone put their health, their life in jeopardy needlessly.

"And if I hadn't, someone else would get killed, maybe tomorrow, maybe even tonight if you and Evan had showed up and Sam and I hadn't," Dean parried back, couldn't believe Hank of all people didn't understand that he had to do something when lives were at stake, had to save the ones he could. That he had to find a small way to make up for all the ones that he hadn't.

"We wouldn't be here if you weren't," Hank heatedly denied, earning him an incredulously look from Dean. "If you had answered your phone, or better yet, stayed back in the hotel bed like I told you to…"

"If you would mind your own business you and your brother wouldn't be here right now, in danger."  
"Oh, so now it's my fault that…" But Dean's hand clamped around his mouth, cutting off his words and halting their progress.

"Sounds like the front door just opened," Dean whispered into Hank's ear, was moving by Hank to return to the front entranceway when a shout came from that direction. Cursing, Dean broke into a run, had to grab Hank's arm to stop the man from passing him, from running headlong into trouble, unarmed. Knew that Hank might be wholly unprepared to see what waited for him, to know why his little brother had screamed.

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TBC

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I'm cruel to stop there, aren't I? I just couldn't resist the temptation to do a cliffie.

Thanks so much for reading and for every single person who was kind enough to give me words of encouragement on the last chapter.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	5. Chapter 5

Pro Bono

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Royal Pains or Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: Cross over with Royal Pains (1st Season) and Supernatural (2nd Season.) While working a case in the Hamptons, the Winchesters cross paths with 2 brothers running their own sometimes pro bono family business, proving that sometimes the best things in life are free.

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Chapter 5

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Sam smirked as he headed to the ballroom because Evan practically was in his pocket, the man's steps dodged his so closely. Intending to offer up some reassurances, he froze mid-step when his sharp hearing detected a creak of a door opening.

At the sound coming from behind him, Evan snapped his head around. His breath trapped in his throat as the front door, the one that they couldn't even budge thirty seconds ago, slowly began to swing open. Screaming at the sight of the silhouette in the door, he backed away, terrified eyes fixated on the specter. His retreat, however, was cut short when he collided with Sam's immovable stance.

Lowering his shotgun, Sam ordered his heart to stop its painful galloping. Aiming the beam of his flashlight on the figure in the doorway, he breathed out, "Tucker," half in relief and half in reprimand. It was becoming real clear why telling people the truth about what they did was a stupid idea. He could almost hear Dean's voice in his head saying, "W_e__ didn't tell Tucker we were hunters, the jokers did._"

Tucker, not remotely put off by the welcome he was getting, stepped fully into the club's entryway.

"NO!" Sam shouted, even as he slipped by Evan, ran for the closing door. His fingernails scraped across the wood of the door as it slammed shut behind Tucker. He gave a growl of frustration but didn't bother testing the door, knew already that Horace was allowing guests in but wasn't inclined to let them out. He exchanged a look with Dean as his brother and Hank arrived on the scene.

Cursing under his breath at their newest tagalong, Dean bent over slightly, his adrenaline altering from frustration then to pain, his unhealed wounds aggravated at his burst of activity. "Tucker, what are you doing here?" he huffed out, the same words coming from Hank, who was standing at his side.

Under the angry scrutiny, Tucker shifted his stance, but couldn't help shooting a look behind him, to the door that had shut on its own, without hydraulic hinges or a breeze. "I…I wanted to be part of this. I _deserved _to be part of this since I helped you," but his rehearsed words lacked the bravado they had on his drive over to the club, were now tempered with honest to goodness fear.

"Helped them?" Hank repeated, angry reprimand in his tone, anger reprimand that he was directing, not at Tucker, but at Dean. "You got him involved in _this_?"

Faced with Hank's displeasure, knowing that he was backed into a corner, Dean gave a defensive, smart aleck retort. "Technically, you got him involved," he pointed out with a smile. "You told us to go to him for help on our job."

"Not to kill a ghost?" Hank nearly thundered, stepping between Tucker and Dean as if he needed to protect the teenager from the deranged ghost hunter.

Quietly, Dean stated, "No. You sent us there to get his help to find a _serial killer_." It didn't feel as great as it should have, Hank's flinch, the look of guilt and regret on his face. Looking at Tucker over Hank's protective shoulder, Dean let out an aggravated exhale but when he spoke, his voice was gentle. "Tucker, I told you that you couldn't come. This isn't at tv show where it's just special effects, where someone yells cut when things get too dangerous and a stunt man steps in. This ghost has killed people….almost killed me."

At Dean's admission that he had nearly done the one thing he swore to Sam that he wouldn't do; die on him, Sam's eyes snapped to his brother and he felt a resurface of the fear from the other night. Dean's decision to go with honesty, it wasn't the best timing, not when they were all trapped with Horace. And Sam's protection detail now had to include not just his brother but three other civilians. As if Dean sensed his attention, he looked his way, almost rolled his eyes as he gave him an expression of '_Don't look at me like you need a hug. I just said that for the kid's sake.' _It made Sam give a quiet chuckle.

But Sam was the only one finding humor in their present situation.

Tucker paled at Dean's straightforward talk, couldn't imagine Dean being bested by anything, let alone almost killed by a ghost, a ghost he had thought would be "awesome" to see. "I…I just wanted…" he stammered, could see reprimand as well as compassion in Dean's eyes. He swung his look to Hank, to someone who he knew better, who he had never wanted to disappoint. "Hank, come on. You know how boring my life is…"

"Boring?" Hank scoffed, couldn't believe a kid that had free reign of his own mansion, complete with servants, a fleet of Ferraris and a black credit card could label his life boring.

"I've been sheltered all my life," Tucker angrily declared, thought Hank of all people would understand how limiting his medical condition could be.

But understanding wasn't what sparked in Hank's features, worry was. Stepping closer to Tucker, Hank gently began, "Tucker, people with your condition need to take precautions…"

"Don't!" Tucker cut him off, voice cracking with the one desperate plea. "Hank, don't. I'm tired of being a freak, of everyone treating me like I'm breakable, that I need to be put behind glass like one of my father's collectibles. I want to do something dangerous, to feel alive for a change."

When Tucker spat out the word, "freak" Sam's eyes met Dean's and sympathy rose in both of them. Being treated as freaks, feeling like freaks, that was something they both had experience with, lots of it. Feeling more of a connection with Tucker than he already had, Sam asked, his voice full of concern, "Tucker, are you sick?" praying that he was misunderstanding Hank and Tucker's conversation.

Under normal circumstances, Hank would never divulge details about a patient's health, highly respected the patient-doctor confidentiality clause. But tonight, tonight was anything but normal and he knew that omitting something vital like Tucker's medical condition, it could get the boy killed. "He's a hemophiliac," he answered before Tucker could, before Tucker made a decision if he would answer.

Turning to Dean, Hank explained, "It's a genetic bleeding disorder. It means the blood clotting factors don't work as they should to stop bleeding after a cut or an injury, or in Tucker's case, even a bruise." He wanted the other man to know what risk Tucker was at in their little shop of horrors scenario, how even the most benign attack on them could prove fatal for Tucker. He saw Dean's eyes darken with concern and seriousness, felt his trust in the other man rise, knew is his heart that Dean wouldn't let Tucker came to harm, not if it was in his power to stop it.

Hearing the less than stellar news, Dean felt his chest clench in anxiety. As if it weren't enough that he had gone into the hunt praying that he was up to having _Sam's back_, now they had three other civilians added into the mix, one of which he couldn't allow to even get bruised. '_Just great. Really going the way I planned tonight_.' His eyes met Sam's and Sam had the audacity to shrug as in '_what do you want me to say, it's our luck_.'

Knowing that he didn't want Sam to shoulder the weight of protecting Tucker, that his kid brother would never forgive himself if the kid got one mark on him, Dean reformulated their plans. "Ok, change of plans. Sam, you and Evan go for the piano," he announced. Pulling out one of the three cans of salt from the bag Hank carried, he, with irritation, jammed a salt can into Hank's gut, slid the bag off Hank's shoulder and gave it back to Sam. "Hank, Tucker and I will go to the ballroom, see if Horace is up for some confession by moonlight."

Evan remained silent at the exchange of reprimands and condemnation, hoped that, if he kept a low profile, his screaming like a little girl would go unmentioned. So it caught him off guard that Dean, instead of sidelining him with all the cowards, was sending him to the front line, was trusting him to have Sam's back. '_For all the times I've tried to earn someone's respect, I end up accomplishing it when my reward is to be pointman on a ghost hunt_. _Just fantastic_.' Looking to Hank, wondering if the mission he was about to undertake would earn even some of his big brother's hard won respect, he found that Hank was watching him, with worry, yes, but also with warm affection and faith.

As Dean passed Sam, he undertoned to his brother, "I feel like I'm on a friggin' episode of Scooby Doo," Waving Tucker and Hank to follow him, he and his entourage began heading toward the hallway that lead to the ballroom.

Hank couldn't resist giving Evan a reassuring pat on the chest, smiled when Evan offered up their joking parting ritual. "Love you." Smirking, Hank gave back his standard, "Like you."

Both Lawson brothers found themselves under the shocked gaze of the Winchester brother they followed. "What?" they asked in unison even as they started to head to different parts of the Country Club.

Hearing Evan and Hank's brotherly ritual kicked in a similar need in Sam. "Jerk," he quietly said, his eyes catching onto the sight of the back of his brother's head before Dean stepped through a doorway leading to the ballroom and he lost sight of him.

With Dean in the lead and Tucker sandwiched between them, Hank couldn't make out what Dean had grumbled under his breath. "Did you say something?"

Caught in the act of offering up his usual retort to his and Sam's own brotherly exchange, Dean cleared his throat, denied, "Ah, no. Nothing."

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"So distracting a ghost, that's the same as making it really, really mad, isn't it?" Hank asked, already knowing the answer.

Dean smirked at the man's perceptiveness. "Yeah, but we'll stay in a salt circle where he can't touch us," he explained as he entered the ballroom, made his way determinedly across the new marble flooring and came to a halt dead center. Standing there, he sent his flashlight beam across the room's dimensions, into the crevices that the moonlight wasn't illuminating. Tugging the can of salt from Hank's grip, he handed the doctor his shotgun, was impressed that Hank didn't object, simply took the weapon into his grip. But Hank just stood there, staring down at the gun, at a loss. "Horace shows up, shoot him, not me or Tucker, OK?" Dean instructed gruffly, wanting his tone and patronizing words to break the other man out of his stupor.

"Ah, yeah, I figured that out without completing my Ghostbusters refresher course," Hank smart mouthed back, earning him an approving smile from Dean. Beginning to turn in place to be on the alert for the ghost's reappearance, Hank held the gun in a white knuckled grip, wondered what the Hippocratic oath said about hurting dead people.

Screwing the lid off the salt can, Dean handed it to Tucker. "Draw a decent size circle around us with the salt and make sure that there are no gaps. That'll keep Horace from getting personal with us."

The teenager took the can with a look of stunned joy, surprised to be assigned a task, especially one vital to their survival. Hurriedly he paced out a few steps out and began to leave a trail of salt on the marble flooring as he moved forward, circled around them.

Striding quickly for the glass doors that opened out onto a veranda overlooking the beach, Dean prayed that Horace hadn't locked everything down, that there was still a way for him to get Tucker and Hank and Evan to safety before Horace showed his less hospitable nature. But the door knob didn't turn in his hand. Not one to accept defeat, he tried to jimmy open a few of the windows on both sides of the doors that made for a spectacular view. But they didn't give under his waning strength either. He was about to turn around, go back to Hank and Tucker when Hank yelled, "Dean, watch out!"

In the game too long not to know which way to dodge, Dean dropped full out on the floor, felt a freezing breeze ruffle his hair as Horace's crushing arms swept through the space he had been in a second ago. Crab crawling forward a few yards, he pushed himself to his feet and ran for the safety of the circle Tucker just about had complete. "Complete the circle Tucker!" he shouted, breaking the kid from his petrified stance.

Bravely, Tucker looked away from the real live…dead ghost and focused on sloshing down the salt, on finishing the circle. It wasn't the neat work of seconds ago but the salt did overlap from beginning of his task to the end.

Shotgun raised, Hank felt more nervous than he had on his first solo operation, was already second guessing his decision to not shoot the ghost when it had shimmered beside Dean. And now, he saw the ghost again, materializing in front of Dean, blocking the hunter's path back to them. He heard Dean's order of "Shoot him Hank!" and, with a prayer of '_I really hope he means it'_ he pulled the trigger, felt the shotgun recoil in his grip, saw the blast of the buckshot. Held his breath as it peppered through the ghost's figure but thankfully missed Dean in his crouched position.

The ghost disappeared with a swirling of black sand.

Using his hands to push himself to his feet, Dean quickly crossed over the salt line. Breath heaving and chest so darn tight it felt like Horace was again giving him a hug, he bent over, put his hands on his knees, tried to get his body to remember who was in charge. He was startled when the voice giving him worried advice wasn't his brother's.

"Easy. Just take shallow breaths, your lungs haven't recovered from the strain of your injuries yet," Hank instructed, was amazed that Dean was able to move, let alone be agile enough to evade a ghost. It just proved the healing abilities of stubbornness, loyalty and love.

Looking up from his bowed position, not at Hank but to Tucker, Dean prodded with a smug smirk, "Bet boring sounds pretty good about now, huh?" But there was no true censure in his tone for the kid's disobedience. It would be too much like the kettle calling the pot black.

"Boring is starting to have its appeal," Tucker allowed with a weak smirk, broke into a smile when Dean laughed at his words.

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"I'm more of a behind the scenes kind of guy, you know, man behind the curtain. So if you can just tell me where to stand out of the way, I'll be like a statue, won't move, the ghost'll think I'm deader than he is," Evan nervously explained, was rethinking how badly he wanted Hank's respect, how far he would go to earn it.

Sam's reply was "Oh crap."

Not sure he wanted to know how things had somehow gotten worse, Evan peeked to the left of Sam, viewed the empty room.

"That's not really a rallying call to battle." The air whooshed out of Evan as Sam shoved the two bags at him and he dug out his cellphone.

Sam was about to push the speed dial for Dean when his head snapped up at the sound of a shotgun blast.

If there was a more terrifying noise to hear coming from another room that your _brother _was in, Evan didn't know it. "Hank," he breathed and then he was dropping the bags Sam had given him, was about to run back the way they had come, go to wherever Hank was. But Sam stepped into his path, roughly grabbed fistfuls of his jacket and countered his forward push with a push backwards.

"Calm down," Sam ordered, his tone a low hiss.

But Evan couldn't be calm, not when he didn't know if Hank was hurt, was shot, or maybe dying. "Calm down! That was a gun going off and my brother's somewhere in here!"

"So is mine," Sam sharply countered, giving Evan a shake to break him out of his panic, to let him know that their fears were the same, but they couldn't falter. "And they are both counting on us to do our part."

Evan nodded, felt more scared than he had ever been but more determined to do whatever Sam needed him to do, whatever Hank expected him to do. "Ok, Ok. So let's go burn the piano already."

Sam shifted uncomfortably, "Yeah, about that…" Releasing his grip on Evan, he hit his speed dial for his brother, hoped Evan didn't see his weak-kneed relief when his brother's "Yeah" reached his ears. After all, he was supposed to be the calm one, the leader in their two man expedition, wasn't supposed to come apart because his brother was in danger.

"You guys alright?" Sam couldn't not ask, no matter that Dean would brush him off, hoped his use of the plural made it seem that he trusted Dean to be OK, it was Hank and Tucker that might be in danger.

"We're just peachy. I don't know if I look like the guy that married his girl or what, but he really isn't taking a shine to me, Sam," Dean quirked back, gave Tucker a wink when he noticed the kid was hanging on his every word.

"Do me a favor, don't provoke him more than you already have."

"Hank's the one that shot him, not me," Dean pointed out, enjoyed the dark look Hank sent his way.

"Well, it's not here, Dean," Sam announced, the octave of his voice showcasing his frustration.

"What, the piano?"

"I'm standing in the room where it was last night and it's gone, Dean. Gone."

"Just great," Dean grumbled. "Well Horace is still here so it's got to be around here somewhere. Guess we'll have to find the stupid thing before we can torch it."

"You think," Sam sarcastically shot back.

Knowing who to blame for his brother's attitude, Dean accused, "You've been spending too much time around Bobby." Then he sighed. "Alright I'll look at the enclosed porch, you check upstairs."

"Upstairs? Dean, it's a piano that weighs.."

"What? Did you work for a moving company? Know the restrictions about what they can carry up a flight of stairs that's within their union contracts?"

Sam swallowed down his angry retort, knew that Dean got snappy when his stress level spiked. "Fine, we'll check upstairs, call you if we find it." Then he disconnected the call, looked to Evan and reassured, "Your brother's fine and we're going on a scavenger hunt for a piano."

"How can you lose a piano, it's not like it's the size of a harmonica," Evan quipped but under Sam's deadly glare, he raised his hands, promised, "Alright, I'm shutting up."

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Sliding his phone back in his pocket, Dean ordered Hank and Tucker, "Stay in the circle, I'll be right back."

"But…" Hank began to protest. Dean tersely cut him off as he took the shotgun out of his hands.

"I didn't second guess you when you were slicing me open on the Men's Club lawn, I think it's time you showed me the same kind of trust."

Cut to the quick, Hank nodded his capitulate, "Ok, yeah, just...be careful alright. I left my medical bag outside…"

Dean smirked, "I'm always careful."

"That's reassuring considering the state you were in when we met."

Dean gave a huff of indignation. Giving Tucker's shoulder a gentle, affectionate squeeze, he eyed the young man, waited for Tucker's nod proving that the teenage was alright before he stalked forward, toward the wooden double doors off to the right of the veranda.

But as he drew nearer to the doors that would lead to a smaller banquet room, pressure began to build up in his ears and he heard a faint tinkering of sand pinging against the glass doors and windows leading to the veranda. A foreboding warning started chanting in his head as he stepped toward the closest window.

Pressing his hands against the glass, Dean sought to see more than his own reflection. In the moonlight, he saw the trees bending under the force of the building winds, that sand was beginning to swirl on the beach, that the ocean which had been calm before when he and Sam had walked up the beach was now a roiling monster, waves crashing onto the beach further and further up the sand at each pass.

Though his gut was predicting what was about to happen, his head was denying it, was stating that he was crazy, that ghosts were strong but they couldn't bring on hurricanes. '_What about a guy killed by a hurricane? Do the same rules apply? Crap, I never wanted to find out_.' Backing up in denial, he jumped as a flying branch hit the window in front of him, put a crack down its pane. Cursing, he spun on his heels, began to run back to Hank and Tucker.

"Get Down!" he bellowed, shoving Hank to the floor and pulling Tucker to the ground as he gained their position. Throwing his arms around Tucker's crouched figure, he curled around the teenager, pressed his head against the top of the kid's bowed head, bracing himself for what came next.

The sound was loud, jarring, seared across his nerves like a thousand screams. And as every window shattered, as the glass doors crumbled under the sudden gale force winds, there was the sound of glass tinkering as it rained down over the marble floor of the ballroom, pelted the three huddled figures in its center.

Determined to bodily shield Tucker, Dean pulled Tucker tighter into his protective embrace, circled his arms around the teenager's torso and prayed that none of the glass that was sinking into his own back was hitting the hemophiliac. Letting the wind howl around him, he held his position until there was no more glass fallout. Loosening his protective hover over Tucker he met the boy's eyes, asked urgently, voice raised to be heard over the wind's caterwauling, "Are you alright? Did any of the glass hit you?"

Tucker, eyes wide with fear as they met Dean's worried gaze, shook his head. "No, I'm not cut."

Reassured by Tucker's answer, Dean looked to his right, saw that Hank was sitting up, his eyes nearly as wide as Tucker's as he looked from the empty window frames to him. "Make for that door," he shouted above the rising din, pointing to a door behind them to the left even as he hauled Tucker to his feet and reached out and grabbed Hank's arm, propelled them both toward the door.

Hank and Tucker didn't need much encouragement, were running for the door the instant Dean released them, but even so, Dean barked, an edge of panic in his tone, "Run faster!"

Though Hank knew what happened to Lot's wife, that she looked behind to the destruction of Sodom and was turned into a pillar of salt, he couldn't help looking back, wanted to see exactly what could put that type of fear in a brave man like Dean. He saw Dean coming up behind them, his pace not so much a run but a pained jog and behind him…a wave of water crashing over the terrace, pouring through the open holes of glassless windows and doors. And even as that wave pounded onto the marble floor, another bigger wave slammed through the Country Club's flimsy wall and curled inside the room like a tsunami, the frothy, churning water quickly gaining ground on Dean.

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To Evan it sounded like someone had knocked over a thousand crystal vases and let them shatter on marble floors, leaving behind a billion pieces to litter the ground. "What was that?" he slowly asked, dreading the answer even as his curiosity took over, had him fleeing the room ahead of Sam, not taking notice that the door shut behind him, that Sam wasn't following him.

Halting at the Country Club's front door, Evan looked down the hallway where his brother and Dean had disappeared. He could hear something else now, like a whistling wind. "Hank?" he called out tentatively and started down the hallway, was startled when a gust of wind billowed his clothing. "Someone get a window open?" he meekly called and pulled the door open.

Instantly wind buffeted him and his senses were overloaded by the smell of salt water, the feel of his shoes getting wet, and the sight of the ocean claiming the ballroom of Hampton's Country Club as part of its territory. Frozen, he watched Hank and Tucker running though a side door, saw Dean bringing up the rear and knew, the other man wasn't going to outrun the terrifyingly strong cresting wave of the ocean.

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"Shut the door behind you!" Dean ordered, having spared a glance over his shoulder at the doom he felt nipping at his heels, knew that he was too far behind Tucker and Hank, that he wasn't going to make it to the door in time.

When Tucker yanked the door open and shot into the other room, Hank slid to a stop in the doorway. Wrapping his hand around the doorknob, he hesitated. He saw Dean and he saw the wall of water, knew the power of nature but wasn't willing to count Dean out just yet.

"Shut the door now!" Dean screamed, knew that, he wasn't a slow runner, and maybe if he was at his physical best, he could have slid through the door, made it to safety. But he was a realist enough to know that wasn't happening today, he had come into the hunt at barely 50% and that wasn't going to be enough. Not today, not for what Horace was bringing to the table.

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Sam pounded on the door that had slammed in his face, had nearly slammed on his nose. Knew it was useless to try and physically wrestle it open but he yanked on the knob anyway. Giving the door one final punch, he spun on his heels, knew that there had to be other doors to try, a way to get back to Evan, who he was supposed to be protecting.

Running out of the Banquet room's left door, he trotted down the smaller banquet hall that ran along the western side of the club, broke into a run as he heard familiar voices, seemingly closer than the next room over.

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His eyes meeting Hank's, Dean bellowed, "Just do it!"

"No!" Hank yelled, not in objection to Dean's order but at the sight of the water smashing into Dean, burying him under its cruel steamroller motion forward. Torn between wanting to save Dean and wanting to protect Tucker, he froze, watched as the wall of water came toward him, toward Tucker. Yanking the door shut at the last possible second, he stumbled backwards, heard the slap of water against the wood, saw the water sloshing against the window panes of the door.

Hank had never knowingly given up a fight to save one patient's life in order to save another's…until then. Suddenly, he understood, what a gift it had been, not knowing that two lives were in his hands, the boy's and the boardmember's, that he was making a choice. Because consciously making that choice…it was the worst weight to carry in the world.

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In stunned shock, Evan saw Dean get knocked down, go under the water and not come back up, saw Hank close the door in the wave's proverbial face. And then he realized where the water was heading, right at him. "Oh crap!" he exclaimed, starting to pull the door shut but it was too late, the water rushed through the doorway and sacked him like a football player.

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Heading toward a wrap around corner, Sam recognized his brother's bellow, "Just do it!" and heard an anguished cry of "No!" that sounded like Hank and then he saw them, Hank and Tucker, watched as Hank closed the door. And he was about to ask where Dean was when something slammed into the door and he saw something splash against the decorative window panes on either side of the door.

Ruthlessly pushing past Tucker and Hank, Sam pressed himself up against the window and saw the unbelievable sight: the ballroom was rolling with waves. He jumped when a hand hit the window inches from his face, right where his own hand rested on the other side of the glass, a hand wearing a silver ring. Then before he could cry out his brother's name, could wrench the door open, no matter the consequences, the hand was gone, was washed away.

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TBC

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Thanks so much for reading, for showing interest in this crossover! And I'm just awed at the wonderful supportive reviews I've gotten!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	6. Chapter 6

Pro Bono

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Royal Pains or Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: Cross over with Royal Pains (1st Season) and Supernatural (2nd Season.) While working a case in the Hamptons, the Winchesters cross paths with 2 brothers running their own occasional pro bono family business, proving that sometimes the best things in life are free.

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Chapter 6

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Then before Sam could cry out his brother's name, could wrench the door open, no matter the consequences, the hand was gone, was washed away.

"No!" Sam roared as his brother was swept away from him. Reaching for the door handle, he wasn't prepared for arms to coil around him, to yank him back, to prevent him from getting to Dean.

"Sam you can't!" Hank shouted as he struggled to maintain his hold on Sam, knew that, to open the door, it would put them all in jeopardy of drowning, Sam, him, and Tucker. He had a responsibility to Tucker, to keep the kid safe. And he owed Dean a debt too, would repay it best by keeping his brother safe.

"Let me go!" Sam snarled, hands desperately working to pry loose the doctor's surprisingly strong grip.

"Dean ordered me to close the door behind us, because he wanted to save us, virtual strangers. There's no way he would want you to put yourself in jeopardy, Sam! Not even for him," Hank tried to rationalize with the panicked younger man, fighting to not let Sam drag him forward. And they weren't just words to sway Sam, were the truth. A truth he knew because, protecting his younger brother was his prime objective in life. It would be no different between Dean and Sam.

Sam's curse was delivered in a ragged breath of defeat. There was no doubt in his mind that Dean ordered Hank to close the door, did so without a thought to his own survival, that Dean expected him to _abandon_ him and save the civilians. '_Screw your self sacrificing crap, Dean. You're surviving this. And I'm going to enjoy chewing you out for the next week or so._' Letting his hand drop from the handle, he angrily punched the door, growled, "We have a piano to find." '_And my brother to save_.'

Confident that Sam had given up his suicidal rescue plan, Hank loosed his grip on the other man and stepped back. He was nearly shoulder checked by Sam as the taller man brushed by him and Tucker, stalked toward the unexplored section of the country club. And that's when it hit him. "Where's Evan?" he asked, chest suddenly tight with fear, fear that far surpassed the emotions of a few moments ago, when his own life was in danger.

"We got split up," Sam threw the blunt words over his shoulder, felt a whole lot less guilty about losing Hank's younger brother since Hank had seen fit to abandon Dean for his own survival.

"Wait. You lost him!" Hank incredulously thundered, beginning to follow the ghost hunter's headlong pace. "I trusted you to keep Evan with you, to keep him safe!" he spat out the accusations, running forward until he was close enough to latch onto Sam's arm. But he wasn't prepared for Sam's quick spin to dislodge his hold, or for the dark rage dancing in the younger man's eyes.

Sam wanted to lash out, wanted to deliver a blow, wanted to find a release for the fear suffocating him…and knew just as surely that he didn't want to make Hank his scapegoat, Hank who had entrusted his brother to his keeping because he was the "expert" at this. "Look, the best thing we can do for Evan is to find the piano, burn it and then this will be all over. Horace will be gone and we'll be able to go find Evan." '_And Dean_.' And it felt like a betrayal, not voicing his determination to find Dean, to make sure his brother hadn't done something really unforgiveable and died on him. But it was the way Dean had taught him to think: Civilians' safety first and foremost, even above his family's. '_And that's just crap, Dean. Total crap_.'

Stifling his panic, Hank nodded his head, found he still trusted Sam, knew that the man would do everything he could to get his brother returned to him in one piece, especially if it meant saving his own brother. "Ok. I'm always up for a BBQ," he tried for levity as he breezed by Sam and through an archway, came up short as he saw it, a black grand piano sitting there in all its musical glory.

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"Oh crap!" Evan exclaimed, starting to pull the door shut but it was too late, the water rushed through the doorway and sacked him like a football player. Mercilessly he was slammed into the wall, head and back making brutal contact, leaving him breathless and seeing stars.

Just as quickly, the wave receded.

But instead of bracing him against the floor, Evan's legs bowed under him, and his brain was too rattled to protest the mutiny . …until his head slipped under the water. The not-being-able-to-breathe thing had him coming back to awareness, forcing his legs to work. Pushing up, he broke the surface of the water and promptly erupted into hacking coughs.

Reaching a hand out, he steadied himself against the wall. As water lapped at his waist, he could hardly believe that he was inside a building and not in a wading pool. "Tell me that didn't just happen," he murmured, even as he pushed off the wall, waded forward toward the doorway.

If a water filled foyer was hard to take, the underwater ballroom was nearly inconceivable. Water was ebbing and flowing into the room with the course of the tide, was sloshing against the newly painted walls, lapping against the few standing section of the front wall facing the ocean.

And then Evan remembered: Dean.

"Dean!" he shouted, eyes scanning the sides of the room, the back wall, expecting to see the elder Winchester standing firm against the continued onslaught. But Dean was nowhere in sight, not along the edges of the room and there were no tell tale flailing hands or feet among the ripples of the water encompassing the room. "Dean?" his call nearly a scream as the horrible reality was finally sinking in. Splashing forward, he continued his entreaty, "Dean! Dean, where are you?"

But only the sound of water slapping against the walls echoed back to him.

"Oh crap," he breathed before he dove under the water, frantically looked through the murky depths, praying to see Dean. '_Hank's the hero, not me. Hank saves people. I don't. I bill them.' _

Breaking the surface, he dragged in a heaving breath of air, surveyed the room again and knew that, Dean wasn't visible, and Hank, he wasn't there. He felt sick to his stomach at the realization that it was up to him to find Dean, to save Dean, that another person's life was in his incompetent hands, that Sam wouldn't forgive him if he failed in this, and maybe Hank wouldn't either. And Dean would surely be pissed, maybe enough to come back and haunt him.

"Hang on, Dean. I'm coming," he vowed as he dove under the water, swam against the current, turned around under the water, praying all the while to glimpse something that could possibly be Dean. With starving lungs, he broke the surface, but only for a moment because he had seen something. He was diving under again before his lungs were fully filled with oxygen.

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Catching sight of the piano over Hank's shoulder, Sam felt some of his panic ebb, it was almost over. Slinging his bag off his shoulder, he reached inside for the can of salt as he purposefully stalked past Hank, was aimed like an avenging angel toward the piano. He was already pouring salt into the strings and keyboard of the grand piano when Hank and Tucker gained his side.

"We do this and Dean will be alright, the ghost will …release him…stop trying to drown him?" Tucker spoke for the first time since Hank had slammed the door against the onslaught of water, since they had left Dean to die. And it was there in the little boy quality of his voice; terror, guilt, the loss of innocence, of the belief that heroes like Dean would never fall, could never fall.

Sam's answer was an unchallengeable statement of fact. "Yes." Because he had to believe that Dean wasn't dead, that he could save him by torching the piano, by destroying Horace. Had to believe that or he would lose it right there, right in front of Hank, Tucker, would lose his crap right in the middle of a gig not even finished yet. '_I hate you Horace! I'm going to enjoy burning your piano to ash, you hear ME!' _he shouted internally; wished he could voice the threat, taunt Horace with what was to come.

"It's a Steinway grand piano, do you know how much they go for?" Hank stated in ill timed appreciation, earning him a glare from Sam and an incredulous dude-you-can't-be-serious look from Tucker. "I'm not saying don't destroy it just…Horace, he had good taste."

"Steinway or not, it's about to be ash," Sam darkly vowed. After drenching the piano in lighter fluid, he bitterly tossed the bottle on the floor and flicked his lighter open. "You're not taking my brother with you, Horace," he acidly declared as he dropped the lighter onto the strings of the piano, didn't even distance himself from the flame that came to life, raced across the open lid of the piano.

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His reaching fingers finally snagging a piece of Dean's jacket, Evan fisted the denim tightly in his grip and vowed not to let go. Pulling the fabric toward him, he anxiously grabbed at what came with it, felt the reassuring solidness of Dean Winchester settle against his chest. Then he was using his feet to propel them both to the surface. Freed of the watery depths, he let out a grasping breath for air. Dean didn't.

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Reaching forward, Hank physically pulled Tucker back from the engulfed piano, stood there with his hand wrapped around the boy's arm and his eyes transfixed on the flame. Found that he wholeheartedly believed what Sam did, that when the piano was no more, Horace would likewise be gone. That, as strange as it was, Horace's spirit was tied to the piano, to an exquisite piece of musical perfection, yes, but still just a thing, just an object, was no more alive, able to return his love than his, albeit beloved, Saab.

He was almost breathing a sigh of relief, certain that they would track down Evan and he would be OK, that Dean Winchester wouldn't have let something as maudlin as drowning kill him. He was even starting to rejoice that the nightmare was practically over.

Then he heard it, the shattering of a window. He opened his mouth to ask 'what now' but his words were stolen away by the gust of hurricane force winds that swept into the room, buffeted him so hard he staggered back. Winds that promptly and effectively blew out the fire. The fire that was supposed to reduce the piano to ash, would send Horace to the hereafter, would let him find Evan, would save Dean.

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"No, no, no," Evan frantically denied as he held a seemingly lifeless Dean Winchester. The ghost hunter's head rested against his shoulder, the man's arms dragged in the water, his legs weren't even making the attempt to take some of his weight, his whole body was limp, was like the My Buddy doll Evan had wanted as kid. "Don't do this man!" he entreated as he began wading through the water dragging Dean toward the wall, toward some semblance of safety. Stumbling over a piece of furniture underwater, he and Dean slammed into the wall, causing his grip on Dean to weaken.

"No!" Evan shouted as he grabbed onto Dean as the man began to slide under the water. Intentionally, he slammed the man's body against the wall, determinedly pinned it there, hands fisted in Dean's water logged jacket. But Dean didn't protest the rough handling, his head bowed, his chin resting on his chest. Evan knew he wasn't breathing. With a trembling hand, he gently lifted Dean's head, propped it back against the wall. "Don't make me do the whole CPR thing, please don't. I never took the course, can't even watch when Hank uses the ….I don't know the name, plastic thingy so he doesn't have to go lip to lip."

But Dean wasn't responding to his logic. Frustration mingling with fear and self disgust at his failures, Evan gave Dean's cheek a slap and slammed the man's back against the wall, "You're not even trying! Do you think Sam would want you to quit!" But Dean was immune to his umbrage too.

"We are never…never going to talk about his afterward. Got that?" Evan insisted as he took in a deep breath, knew that, his little personal space issue couldn't be the reason Dean died, that Sam lost his brother. He was about to force himself to begin CPR when the winds picked up again. Head snapping to the right, he saw another massive wave heading their way, knew that there was no where to go to escape it.

Protective instincts coming to life he didn't know he had, Evan flung himself over Dean's vulnerable form, braced his arms against the wall on either side of Dean's head. He prayed to God that if he pressed them both against the wall, it would give them enough leverage to hold their ground.

Then the wave washed over them.

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A roar of furious outrage erupted from Sam, nearly rose above the din of the wind. Horace wasn't playing fair, on any accounts. For a moment, Sam just stood there, hands fisted, his hair and his clothing flapping in the wind, his focus on the piano, the impression of defeat building stronger with each second. And the real possibility that Dean could be dead slipped behind his crumbling barriers.

And that was too much, too great a loss to bear, was wholly unacceptable to Sam.

Snapping out of his crippling defeatism, Sam fought against the gales to reach the piano. "We have to get this thing out of the wind!" he shouted to Hank and Tucker, his voice barely carrying over the howling wind, pointing toward the room that the piano had originally been in the other night.

Hearing Sam's words, Hank came forward, helped Sam turn the piano so the wheels were facing the right way. Then, he slipped beside Sam, exchanged a determined look with the younger man.

"Tucker, grab the can of salt and go to the last room on the right, salt the doorway, salt the whole perimeter of the room, keep salting even if it blows away," Sam ordered.

Readily scooped up the can that had blown to the wall, Tucker ran through the archway, intent on his mission.

Turning his focus back to Hank, Sam jerked his head and they began pushing the piano down the hallway. But the wind pummeled the piano toward the outside wall, forcing Sam to jump in its path, to push it to the right even as Hank pushed it forward. It had his muscles straining, and he knew he was demanding a herculean task from his all-too human physique.

In that moment, Sam sharply missed Dean's presence, knew that Dean would be sputtering curses, would be throwing out vows to burn all pianos, would be saying how much he hated nature, especially hated ghosts who could manipulate nature. That somehow Dean would make this …this mayhem, this threat…not only bearable but almost….enjoyable, a challenge to overcome, a victory that would be sweeter because they had had to fight so hard for it. It was what his father could never give him, joy even in the worst of it. John Winchester would have never gotten him to smile days after Jessica's death, had never had the gift to give hope when everything seemed hopeless, didn't have the strength of heart to sustain life where death could have easily resided.

'_Dad, you might have died thinking you were only saving Dean, but you saved me too. And I'm not going to lose Dean, not today, not to some piano loving country club card carrying ghost.'_ And crazy as it was in that moment, Sam felt himself smiling, knew that he was channeling Dean there a little bit and it felt good, pulling on the armor of Dean's attitude, of thinking of Dean's strength, determination. And he knew that, if things were on the other foot, Dean wouldn't quit until he was saved. '_And neither will I, Dean'_ he vowed, glad that stubbornness was yet another trait he had learned from his big brother.

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Evan staggered as the ocean once again submerged them but he kept Dean pinned to the wall, kept them relatively in place. When the wave broke, Evan drew in a starving breath of air and shook his head to get the hair out of his face before he returned his focus to Dean. Determination overriding his earlier squeamishness, Evan was about to perform mouth to mouth when Dean saved the day by jerking in his grip and promptly began choking up water.

"Thank God," Evan breathed, wasn't exactly sure what he was more grateful for, that Dean was alive or that he didn't have to give mouth to mouth resuscitation to accomplish that miracle.

Keeping his one hand supportively pressed against Dean's chest, Evan slid his other hand around the back of Dean's neck, gave the man a light, grounding squeeze like Hank always did to him when he was about to succumb to panic. "Easy, Dean. I think you swallowed half the water in the room."

Dean choked up more water and bent forward as a raging cough tore from him, felt the hand on his chest keeping him from faceplanting into the water, heard the soothing tone but knew it wasn't Sam. It wasn't an enemy, he knew that, but it wasn't the person that could quell the tremors surging through him at having almost died. Again.

Fearing that Dean would pitch forward, Evan edged closer to the elder Winchester, tried to instill humor to cover up his own ragged nerves, "I don't mean to be judgmental, but your job sucks, dude. If Hank decides to go ghostbuster after this, he's on his own. Brotherhood only takes a guy's loyalty so far."

Evan. Evan Lawson. That was the person keeping him upright, bringing him back from the brink. Raising his head took more effort than it ever should but Dean did it, got his eyes to focus on his rescuer. "What? You're not having fun?" Dean joked, his voice a raw travesty after his near drowning.

Evan's laughter was edging toward hysteria. "Believe it or not, no, no I'm not having fun."

"Me either," Dean hoarsely admitted with a groan. Leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes, he felt Evan's fingers tighten in the fabric of his sopping wet shirt, knew that he should be slipping back into hunter mode, should be leading Evan now but he couldn't find the strength, not yet.

Evan worriedly watched Dean, knew the man deserved the reprieve from moving, just wasn't sure how long they would be safe where they were. "We should move. If I don't get you back to Sam in one piece, HankMed will be looking for a new CFO."

Opening his eyes, Dean was expecting to see humor glimmering in Evan's eyes, not such seriousness. "After going rounds with a killer ghost you're scared of _Sam_?" he taunted incredulously, couldn't figure out what Evan saw in Sam that he didn't.

Evan snorted. "Sam almost killed me and Hank on the lawn of the Men's club when he thought we were _hurting_ you, man. If I did the unthinkable and let you die…" Evan shook his head, unable to voice the destruction that would ensue, shaken at how close that outcome had been only moments before. The jolt of renewed fear was enough to get him into motion. "Yeah, enough thinking about that. We need to find the others, kill Horace and I wouldn't be opposed to burning this whole place to the ground."

Shifting to Dean's left side, Evan braced his arm across Dean's back and used his grip in the man's shirt to pull Dean off the wall. The first steps were stumbling attempts and then Dean found his legs, allowed them to wade through the water with awkward but determined progress.

Propelling Dean forward, Evan locked on a course back to the room where he had left Sam, confident that things would be alright if he got Dean back to Sam, that Hank's motto of "The closer we stay to each other the better," applied as much to the Lawson brothers as it did to the Winchesters. And above that, he totally believed that, if the Winchesters were together, Horace wouldn't stand a chance against them. That no one would.

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TBC

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Sorry the chapter is a little short but I wanted to keep the story…"afloat". Ha ha ha. I just couldn't resist the pun.

Thanks so much for reading and for the wonderfully kind reviews!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	7. Chapter 7

Pro Bono

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Royal Pains or Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: Cross over with Royal Pains (1st Season) and Supernatural (2nd Season.) While working a case in the Hamptons, the Winchesters cross paths with 2 brothers running their own occasional pro bono family business, proving that sometimes the best things in life are free.

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Chapter 7

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The Steinway piano crashed into the wall, put an impressive dent in the plaster. Breathing hard, Hank leaned against the stopped piano. "After this, I'm never playing piano again. Course I never played the piano before," he wisecracked above the wind whistling through the country club like a car testing wind tunnel.

Sam gave a huff of laughter and strained to push the wayward piano from the wall and back on course. "Burning this thing will be a pleasure, famous Steinway or not." His shoes slipping on the newly installed marble flooring, he bent down lower, pushed harder to budge the piano back and then he and Hank were again pushing it forward, heading to the room that Tucker had disappeared into minutes ago.

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"This is so not what I imagined happening," Tucker murmured to himself as he laid down a layer of salt around the edges of the room. It was startling how drastically changed his notion of bravery and stupidity were since walking into the Country Club doors. The video had, in no way, prepared him to come face to face with a real ghost. And his complaint that being protected all his life sucked…yeah, he didn't think that now. He was more than ready to go back to his "take care: hemophiliac on board" status.

Seeing that his salt line had literally been blown to the four winds, he grumbled, "There goes my salt on the doorway." As he began walking back to the double doors, a strong gust of wind rocked him, from behind. He spun around, terrified that he was about to be alone with a ghost. As the door swung open and water seeped into the room, he stumbled back in retreat, was about to toss the salt, can and all at Horace as he entered barely kept from launching the can when Evan and Dean staggered into the doorway.

Raising a hand to his chest, Tucker breathed, "Seriously, I almost died of a heart attack, right here and now."

"Lot of that going around," Evan greeted. Repositioning his hold on Dean, he propelled them across the room's threshold. Though he was glad to be reunited with any member of their team, disappointment and fear clamored in him at the reality that Sam and Hank were no where in sight. "Tucker, close the door behind us," he ordered, though he knew Horace had a way with doors and water and wind. '_It's the illusion of safety that all men cling to, not the actuality of it,_' he found himself thinking, impressed by his own profoundness.

As the teenager complied with Hank's order, Dean asked, "Where's Sam…and Hank?" his unplanned saltwater gargling doing nothing to soothe the burning in his throat or the hoarseness of his voice.

Before Tucker could make a reply, Dean's eyes flew to the opposite door. Geared up to face a threat, he wasn't expecting a piano to roll into view, to crash violently into the doorway. "What? Now the friggin' piano's possessed?" he growled in exasperation, reaching out to grab Tucker, intent on pulling the kid out of the piano's path. But then Sam stepped into view, began trying to wrestle the piano free.

"Guess you found the piano," Dean pointed out the obvious. He found himself leaning more heavily against Evan as some of his adrenaline faded as relief washed over him. Sam was alright, his brother was still in one piece.

Sam's head snapped up and a huge smile flew onto his lips at the sight of his big brother. "Dean!" he called out with such adoration, such relief that it kicked in a knee-jerk response in Dean, namely brought a happy smirk onto Dean's pale, wet features.

"Sammy, you jonesing to be a furniture mover, join a union?" Dean smart mouthed, nodding toward the piano, his lightheartedness emerging now that he and Sam were reunited.

At the sound of Dean's voice, Hank quickly joined Sam in the doorway. At the sight of Evan, a broad smile emerged on his features. Though Evan was drenched, he wasn't hurt, Hank's doctor and brotherly instincts reassured him of that, determined that, Evan wasn't leaning on Dean. No, it was the other way around.

"Sam and I are stuck doing all the work while you two decide to go for a swim. That doesn't seem fair to me," he entered the brotherly verbal give and take, felt ridiculously happy to be back in close proximately with Evan, to know that Dean hadn't died to save him.

Dean gave a bark of laughter. However, it quickly turned into a round of horrifying coughing.

Bitterly wishing that there wasn't a piano blocking his path to his brother, Sam saw, with surprise and gratitude, Evan put his hand on Dean's chest, reposition closer to Dean so he bear his brother's weight better, ensure that he stayed upright. Felt his stomach twist at the younger Lawson's soft taunting tone, "Hey, do we need to go over again about how your lungs need to stay on the inside? I thought I was pretty clear."

Matching surprise and pride surged through Hank. Stood there in awe watching his little, sometimes selfish, immature brother take care of Dean, show a side of himself he rarely did. Was sharp proof that Evan's bedside manner was pretty awesome, that his little brother was every bit the humanitarian that he accused his big brother of being.

Accepting that, though he wasn't the one there supporting Dean, his brother was in capable hands, Sam still had to force himself to draw his focus away from his brother's abused form. "Let's get this thing in the room," he directed. Then he was pulling the piano back with Hank's help. Lining the piano up with the doorway, the two men finally pushed it over the room's threshold. "Close the doors and put down salt," he told Tucker.

Flying to the doors, Tucker pulled both doors shut and was more than generous with the salt. As he completed the line he stepped back, almost expected the ghost to slam against the door. Instead, the wind stopped and an eerie quiet fell upon the confines of the room.

Though Sam was able to cross over to Dean, to take his brother's care into his own hands, he stayed the course, focused on burning Horace out of his happy haunting grounds. "Tucker, give me the salt," he said, taking the can from the boy. He was about to resoak the piano in salt when the can was supernaturally ripped from his grasp.

Horace shimmered into view in front of the piano.

Starkly unarmed, Sam retreated even as Dean broke from Evan's hold and came forward until he and Sam stood shoulder to shoulder. Together the Winchesters confronted the ghost, presented an ineffectual but well meaning protective wall for the civilians at their back.

Behind the Winchesters, Hank pushed Tucker behind him and threw his arm in front of Evan, blocking his brother from even thinking of stepping forward. He knew that the ghost would have to go _through_ the Winchesters to get to him. And he vowed that Horace would have to get past _him_ to lay a spectral hand on his brother or the teenager.

"What are you, the Houdini of ghosts? You're not following the rules!" Dean groused angrily at Horace, his patience gone for this hunt and this particular spook. "Ghosts can't cross salt lines!" He felt Sam's hand wrap around his wrist, as if Sam feared he would step forward, try to go toe to toe with a ghost.

Horace's smile was malicious. "As if you're the type to follow rules." He didn't shimmer forward but purposefully stepped forward, wanted Dean to know he was coming for him.

"Just hold up on the killing me part!" Dean shouted with raging irritation, raising his free hand as if he could halt the ghost.

But Horace did stop, surprised and frustrated that he wasn't provoking a cowardly plea from the man, was instead given an angry demand.

"Dude, seriously, have we met in a past life? Did I spill a drink on your smoking jacket? Steal your horse, Trigger? Wreck your chariot?" Dean bitterly challenged, would have stepped into the ghost's personal space but Sam had released his wrist, yes, but had changed it up for a arm thrown out across his chest, long fingers fisted in his wet jacket lapel.

"You're just like him," Horace spit out. "You're a penniless kid from a class so decidedly below my own that our paths should have never crossed. But they did. His and mine and yours and mine. Everything comes so easy for your type: talent, confidence…women. You succeed without ever trying."

"Hey, I try plenty," Dean gruffly protested the profiling. Feeling Sam shift beside him, he shot a glance to his brother, saw Sam's bug eyed reprimand aimed at him for arguing with a ghost that already wanted to kill him.

Seeing the defiance in Dean's eyes, knowing his brother wasn't going to back down, would antagonize Horace until he provoked the ghost into making some rash move, would take that risk in some stupid hope that he could use the distraction to their advantage, Sam joined the fray. "So what about that other guy you killed, was he below your station too? Or did he scratch your beloved piano?"

"Beloved piano?" Horace echoed, his voice a low acidic cackle. "I hate the thing, more than I hate being trapped here."

"What?" Dean and Sam said in unified confusion.

Horace stepped back, seemed to enjoy that he had an audience. He took his time unfolding his tale. "I wasn't a superstitious man but it didn't take long for me to realize it was cursed." Horace shook his head, the memories bittersweet as they came to him. "I thought it was my ticket into show business, that if I donated it to the Country Club and played it every weekend, some talent agent in from New York City would hear me, sign me up for a contract. That I would finally have earned something in life instead of just having to buy it."

As the ghost paused in his story, Evan couldn't help prompting, "Soooo, I'm guessing that didn't happen, what with you being an old ghost haunting a building that's not been open in more years than I've been alive." He 'omphed' as Hank's elbow jabbed into his gut, ordering him, as only a loving brother could, to shut up.

Horace eyes skimmed to Evan. "You don't belong here either…and you know it," he condemned.

Fearing that Horace's maliciousness would be redirected from him to Evan, Dean scoffed, "This from the guy who has overstayed his welcome by forty eight years." And that did the trick, had Horace's glare resettling upon him.

Wanting to deflect Horace malevolence, Sam asked, forced contrived interest into his tone, "But when the talent agents came, it wasn't you they scouted." His perceptiveness proved on the money when Horace snorted in hatred.

"No, they liked the kid that was the janitor, came in and cleaned the floors on Sunday nights. One of my friends thought it would be great to sabotage one of the greatest weekend parties of the year by telling the kid they wanted him to play the piano on Saturday night. He didn't hesitate to take up the dare, strode up there like he owned the world, sat down and played for the elite of the elite." Horace turned around, ran his hand along the piano. "People stopped dancing, stopped talking, stopped _drinking_…to listen to him play."

"So he got the contract and you didn't. That's called life, not a curse, buddy," Dean goaded, couldn't believe it had taken such a little disappointment in life to create a homicidal ghost.

"Yeah, if that was the end of it." Again facing his audience, Horace patted the piano. "This thing got me my wife…and lost her for me. She thought I was going to make it big, tour with a famous band. Money wasn't enough for her, though she burned through my fortune quicker than a California forest fire. She left me high and dry, broke. Only thing of value I had left was this cursed piece of crap. I wanted to sell the thing, get some cash…But no, the Club had determined it had historic value, had included it in their historic register for the building. I owned the lousy thing but couldn't move it from the club!"

"And you were doing, I don't know, grand piano theft when the hurricane hit?" Dean speculated.

"I didn't want to steal it, I wanted it destroyed!" Horace sputtered, angry that Dean wasn't following the story close enough to see where it was leading. "I thought I would finally get money out of the thing through the insurance policy. I came here to make sure it got damaged. I was moving it into the main ballroom when the hurricane hit. Thing fell on me, trapped me. I died under it and I've been tied to it ever since."

Dean was surprised to find himself actually sympathizing with Horace. "Wow that…sucks, man. You should have gone with a smaller instrument, fiddle, trumpet…"

Afraid Dean would talk himself right back onto Horace's hit list, Sam interrupted, "We can help you."

"Help me?" Horace sneered. "Help me how?"

"Get free of the curse, to leave here," Sam stated, hoped it was enough, that Horace didn't asked him where he would go if he left this world.

"I've been trying to do that for over forty years!"

"Well…we, my brother and I, know a ritual." Sam gestured to Dean and to himself, wanted Horace to know that, if he hurt Dean, there would be no deal, wanted to give the impression that Dean was needed for the ritual.

"I'll be free?" Wonder began to creep into Horace tone, his eyes flickered between the Winchesters.

"Yes," Sam and Dean vowed together.

"Do it," Horace ordered, stood stock still as if he thought it would be an instantaneous transformation.

Hating to incur Horace's wrath again, Sam sheepishly pointed out, "We need stuff…from our car. I can go get them, be back in a fifteen minutes…"

"The boy, Marshall Bryant's great grandson, I'll let him leave to get the things you need," Horace countered, his look coming to rest on Tucker.

"Um…yeah, ok," Tucker stammered, starting to move forward.

Hank quickly gripped Tucker's arm, stopped him. Had no intentions of letting the boy fall into the ghost's hands.

"You hurt the kid and I'll make sure you rot in here forever," Dean threatened, trusted Horace about as far as he could toss the Impala.

"The boy will be safe, I promise."

"Yeah, like your promises are worth anything," Dean grumbled under his breath as he turned around, faced Tucker's pale, apprehensive countenance. He waved the teenager forward and Hank let him come. Putting a hand on Tucker's shoulder, he began patiently listing the items they would need from the Impala's trunk, gave directions to where they had left the car. When he heard Sam begin to explain the ritual to Horace, when Sam gave him the distraction he needed, he leaned in close to the teenager, whispered in Tucker's ear. "You don't have to come back in, Tucker. You can call a friend of ours at 555-…"

But Tucker shook his head, quietly but firmly vowed, "No. I'm not letting you guys stuck in here with him."

"Tucker I won't be disappointed..." Dean gently reassured.

"But I would be, in myself. Please let me do this Dean. Please. I can do it," Tucker entreated, wanted to help Dean and others, wanted Dean to believe in him, to have faith in him.

Dean's grin was all the answer Tucker needed. Then the Impala keys were pressed into his hand and Dean's hand closed around his.

Giving Tucker's hand a squeeze, Dean released his grip and nodded toward the door that led to the foyer. He prayed that Horace honored his promise, let the boy go and return without harm.

Skirting by Horace, Tucker walked for the door. Tentatively reaching out, he found that the door handle turned, swung open easily, without resistance. Looking over his shoulder at the men that he was leaving behind, he gathered his courage and walked through the doorway. The door slammed shut behind him. He forced himself to not look back, instead he forged ahead, fully expected the front door to remain locked but it too opened and he inhaled a hurried breath of fresh air, hadn't realized how stale the air inside had been, how cramped it had felt.

Trotting down the stairs, he headed for his car, was already calculating how long it would take to drive to Dean's black classic car. '_Well Dad's love for Ferraris is finally going to pay off_," he thought, knew that the Italian sports car would ensure he got there and back again in record time because he had no plans whatsoever of staying within the speed limit.

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The alive occupants of the room huddled against the back wall of the room.

Dean shook his head, a sardonic smirk turning up his lips. "A cursed piano? I so didn't see that one coming. Guess that's why Horace could get by the salt. He's tied to the piano. Can go where it goes."

Sam gave a grunt of annoyance. "Yeah, so basically we salted him IN the room with us. Not our greatest move."

"Excuse me but I'm new to this whole supernatural theme we have going on tonight. So burning the piano won't break the curse and free Horace?" Evan questioned, eyes flickering between the two experts on ghosts and apparently on cursed musical instruments.

Pulling his look from his brother, Sam faced Hank. "No. Cursed objects are different than an item that a ghost is simply latching onto. A curse has a mandate to follow, will follow it until its power is broken."

"Which you're going to do with stuff you have just chucked in the trunk of your car?" Evan interjected, doubt coloring his words.

"You'ld be surprised what we have in our trunk," Dean said under his breath, let Sam give the sanitized reply.

Shrugging, Sam nonchalantly rationalized, "Its tools of our job. As common to us as the stuff Hank carries in his black medical bag."

"Ah, yeah, no. I don't think I have anything nearly as ….can I say _creepy_ in my bag as you guys must have in your trunk," Hank denied, not with censorship but a smirk.

"One man's creepy…" Dean returned with a shrug, didn't bother to finish the statement, knew by Hank's soft laugh that he didn't have to. And he was glad of that because the casual gesture, it hurt, had stolen the breath right out of him.

Tightening the grip he had maintained on his brother's arm since he had helped Dean shuffle to the back of the room, Sam worriedly inquired, "Dean?" because he was an expert at reading his brother, had had to be since the jerk was too stubborn to mention when he was in pain, lots of pain.

"I'm fine," Dean lied, didn't bat an eyelash under Sam's worried scrutiny.

"Yeah, sure you are. Surgery one day, taking on a hurricane the next, yeah you're just great," Sam darkly countered with a mocking laugh.

"Sam I…" Dean began, ready to say what he needed to in order to wipe the fear from Sam's eyes.

"I thought you were dead," Sam bluntly announced, his eyes broadcasting how painful that belief had been for him.

Sam's pain, it ripped the smart aleck comeback right out of Dean. Giving Sam's worry for him the respect it deserved, he solemnly confessed, "I almost was." Nearly winced himself when Sam jerked as if the truth was a physical blow he had delivered. "I would be if Evan hadn't done his Aqua Man impersonation and pulled me out of the drink."

Sam, Dean and Hank's eyes all swung to Evan.

Suddenly finding himself the center of attention, Evan joked, "I wouldn't call it Aqua Man…more like Superman because he can hold his breath for a really long time."

"Thank you," Sam earnestly offered to Evan, knew that Evan couldn't know what he had done, the pain he had spared him. But as he saw Hank reach out and give his little brother's shoulder a proud squeeze, saw Evan basking in his brother's affection, he realized Evan knew exactly how he felt about Dean, knew it because he felt the same depth of love for Hank.

"Please tell me we're not going to hug," Dean grumbled, "turn this into some counseling session."

"Yeah! How about 'big brothers and the little brothers that love them'. We can sell motivational tapes," Evan readily supplied, prized the glare it earned from Hank and Dean and goofy smile of agreement from Sam.

Turning to Sam, Dean warned, "You do realize we owe the Chief Financial Officer a debt. You know, the guy who bills people. He's not the guy who does pro bono work."

"I promised Hank I would give you the friends and family rate for medical services. Water retrieval procedures, however, are a whole different price bracket," Evan warned with a wide smile.

Horace's voice startled them. It was like the elephant in the room, that they had actually managed to forget about, had unexpectedly learned to talk. "I don't understand why you are here, any of you." Horace purposefully looked to Dean, "I did my best to kill you and you still came back, knowing what I had in store for you. Why?"

"Because you were killing people. You had to be stopped," Dean stated matter-of-factly.

"At the risk of your own life?" Horace pressed, head tilted, unfamiliar with such bravery, such …lunacy.

Dean almost shrugged, caught himself in time, used his words instead. "Comes with the job."

Turning his haunted gaze on Hank and Evan, Horace questioned, "And you two, were you here to stop me too?"

"NO!" Evan sputtered, didn't want there to be any confusion about who the ghost hunters were in the room.

"We only came because they came," Hank provided, jerking his head toward the Winchesters. "I actually thought I was going to be the hero in this story, rush in.." he adopted his announcer for a super hero comic tone, "save my patient from infection and a serial killer!" Then remembering Horace perchance for murder, he raised his hand in apology, stammered, "Not that serial killers are all bad people…were bad people, weren't just…misunderstood in their formal lives."

"The boy is back," Horace informed briskly, his dark glare on Hank before it slid to the room door which he swung open. Tucker hurried in, his hands loaded down with the supplies that Dean had required.

Anticipating Dean's refusal to stay relegated to the bleachers with the civilians, Sam helped Dean match his step forward. But he down right refused to relinquish his hold on his brother until he was certain Dean was steady on his feet. He was starting to doubt that that certainty would happen when a hand wrapped around Dean's other arm. Sending a grateful look to Hank, he released Dean with only a pang of anxiousness. Turning to Tucker, he grabbed some of the supplies from the dark haired boy's grasp, sank down onto his knees and began setting up the items for the ritual.

Demoted to observer, Dean stood behind Sam, watched how proficiently his little brother put the herbs together, situated the bowl, drew the markings on the floor. It caused a stab of sorrow to flicker in him, that recognition that Sam didn't need his help very much anymore.

Looking over his shoulder, Sam met Dean's eyes, posed, "Is it a pentagon or a five pointed star that goes in the circle?"

And just like that, Dean knew that Sam still needed his help. But more than that, Sam still _wanted_ his help. Even after he had cost their Dad his life, had kept their Dad's last words from him, had vowed to kill him if he went evil. The kind of loyalty, the kind of trust Sam was offering to him, Dean didn't know what to do with it, how to accept such a valuable and so undeserved gift.

At Dean's silence, at the way his brother swallowed hard, looked…vulnerable, Sam nearly came to his feet, reached his hand out and grasped Dean's wrist. "Dean what's wrong? You alright?" his voice extraordinarily soft, his eyes fixed on his brother's, ready to do whatever Dean asked of him, needed of him.

Shaking himself from his haze, Dean gave a shadow of a smile. "Five point star. Thought you had Dad's journal memorized, college boy." But Sam didn't smile, kept watching him, waiting, expecting, Dean didn't know what. "You need help drawing the star, Sam? You start with an upside down V…"

"I'm the artist in the family, remember?" Sam taunted, seeing that light returning to his brother's eyes, he released his grip on Dean and turned back to the ritual.

"Says who?" Dean challenged.

"You did when we were going after Hookman."

"Dude, that was only because I refused to paint on another guy's body, team spirit or not," Dean chuckled, watched in silent admiration as Sam drew the symbols with ease. Gauging that Sam was almost done, he looked up to Horace. "Once we do this, the curse will be broken and you can move on."

"Is it my choice, to move on or to stay?" Horace asked, a tinge of fear evident in his tone.

Dean fell silent, didn't know the answer, didn't know the answer Horace wanted to hear. "You won't be bound to the piano anymore, the curse will be lifted. I guess what happens to you after that is your choice."

"Ready," Sam declared. Climbing to his feet, he reclaimed his spot beside his brother. Sharing a worried but resigned look with Dean, he pulled out his lighter. Sparking a flame to life, he tossed the lighter into the bowl of herbs.

There was a flash and then the flame leapt a few inches in the air, burned with a bright orange intensity. It sizzled into a black plume of smoke before the flame flashed out of existence.

Sam and Dean raised their attention from the bowl to Horace. Their uneasiness for what came next, what Horace would choose to do with his new found freedom flowed between them.

For a few moments, Horace stood stock still. And then he began to laugh, the sound changing the longer it went on, converting from an old man's gruff laugh to a young man's joyous sound of mirth. Unexpectedly, Horace's features changed too, became youthful again, became tangible, human. When he raised his arms to view his hands, Sam and Dean both moved backwards, not trusting the benevolence of the former ghost.

"You did it!" the twenty-five year old Horace exclaimed, a light shining in his eyes as his gaze slid to the ghost hunters. "I'm free." Turning, he reached out, stroked his fingers along the keys of the piano. A trail of flames followed in his fingers wake. And then the piano burst into flames

"Whoa!" Dean exclaimed, raising his arm to block the heat wave that slammed into him, found himself yanked backwards by not only Sam's grip but Hank's too. "Pyromaniac much?"

Horace turned to them and his smile? It was the kind that gave Sam the willies.

"You're free. You can go now, find rest," Sam encouraged even as he doubted that rest would be on Horace's agenda.

"Go?" the youthful Horace chuckled. "Why would I want to go now? I'm young, I'm can go anywhere I want, I have powers I never dreamed of."

Sam's eyes slid to Dean's, and he could see sharp comprehension in his brother's gaze: things were going south really fast, were only going to get worse. And it was there, in that one look, in that shared second, a oneness in spirit. A silent communication thrummed through them, unfaded by the years Sam had been away at Stanford. The year and half since they had been reunited had only strengthened it, forged under fire a bond that outmatched any power Horace was imbued with.

Sensing the danger vibrating through Dean, the strength that the brothers collectively emanated, Hank released his grip on Dean, stepped back. Giving a quick look over his shoulder, he saw that Tucker and Evan were already against the wall. He gladly retreated back another three steps, put more distance between himself and the Winchesters.

Tilting his head at Sam, Dean gave a cocky smile, bounced his eyebrows. Then, in synch the brothers moved, each sent a kick into Horace's corporeal body.

Under the double blows, Horace tumbled backwards into the flaming piano. It was as if a black hole engulfed him. One minute he was there, starting to scream and then the next, he was gone, a fine dust of ash floating to the air.

The piano, however, remained, continued to burn, to crumble in on itself, to be reduced to ash. It would never again resonant with a musical chord. Its curse would never intertwine another soul to its fate.

Though arrogance had given strength to curse and ghost alike, it was loyalty that had proven itself the stronger, had bested them both.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and for all the kind words of encouraging. Well since our villain is gone, I think one more chapter will wrap this crossover story up!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	8. Chapter 8

Pro Bono

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Royal Pains or Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: Cross over with Royal Pains (1st Season) and Supernatural (2nd Season.) While working a case in the Hamptons, the Winchesters cross paths with 2 brothers running their own occasional pro bono family business, proving that sometimes the best things in life are free.

Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait for this ending!

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Chapter 8

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With their victory achieved, Dean bent over, leaned his hands against his thighs and closed his eyes, fought to stay conscious, to not let the pain bring him to his knees, tried to convince his lungs that it was to their benefit to keep pushing air in and out. Instantly Sam was pressed against his side, his arm circling around his back, was his anchor in the storm.

"Whoa, hey, I gotcha," Sam said using his gentle, little-brother-in-charge tone as he stooped to match Dean's position, fisted his hand in his brother's shirt front, watched Dean's profile and grimaced. Dean's freckles were standing out in his pale complexion and his eyes were clamped closed, and that was never a good sign. "You need to sit down?" He wasn't surprised that Dean gave a sharp, if minimal shake of his head. "Alright, just give yourself a moment."

"Should I…" Hank began to offer but Sam met his eyes over his brother's bowed posture and shook his head. Though the doctor in Hank ached to intervene, to insist he be allowed to check Dean over, the brother in him conceded to Sam. There were some times that only a brother's touch would be tolerated, that only family could be counted upon.

Never liking silence, Dean rasped out, "I'm not sure what I hate more right now…ghosts, pianos or the beach."

Sam's jaw jumped as he commiserated, "Yeah, me too," hating anything that brought his brother pain.

Wrestling his pain down to a manageable level, pushing through his fatigue, Dean straightened up, drew in a breath that only hitched a little in pain and opened his eyes. And Sam was right next to him, invading his personal space, his face mere inches from his own wearing that worried expression that puckered his forehead.

Instead of facing Sam, Dean shuffled away from his brother and turned around, knew that Sam _released_ his grip on him, that he hadn't broken it, not with the feeble strength he had. Taking in the still shocked expressions of Hank, Evan and Tucker, he groused, "Show's over folks," and he swept his arm toward the door, had never been one to think that loitering after a haunting was smart.

The response he got was a cacophony of voices.

"Dudes, that was the most frightening…_awesome_ thing I have ever seen," Evan gushed, eyes moving from Dean to Sam back to the piano.

Pointing to the burning piano, Hank responsibly asked, "The piano's still on fire. Shouldn't we…"

"Oh man, there was no _way_ I regret being here, seeing that," Tucker admitted with a wide smile.

"Out, out! Move it!" Dean growled, snapping his fingers and pointing to the door. As Evan, Hank and Tucker passed him, he said, "Daphne. Fred. Scrappy Doo," which earned him a glare from Evan, a good natured snort from Hank and just confusion from Tucker.

Shooting a look over his shoulder at Sam, who was smirking at his brother's sense of humor, he groused, "The kid doesn't know Scooby Doo? We're not that old, are we?"

"I'm not. You are," Sam quirked back and slipped by Dean, beginning to follow the three "Scooby Doo" characters toward the door.

"Funny. You're a laugh riot," Dean grumbled, gave one last look to the piano which was turning to ash and then turned in time to watch Evan hesitantly open the door, physically brace himself to get assaulted by another tsunami wave. As the door swung open, only a trickle of water slipped into the room.

In utter disbelief Evan quickly stepped out into the entrance hall, found that there were only a few puddles of water remaining. Taking a few hurried steps to the right, he viewed the ballroom, couldn't believe that the water was all gone, had been recalled again to the ocean. But there was proof of the ocean's claim on the Country Club by the sand, seaweed, crabs, a few flopping fish that littered the floor and by the five foot water marks on the walls. "I…There was….He almost.." he stammered, pointed to Dean, knew he hadn't imagined Dean's near drowning, the wading pool the room had been less than half an hour ago.

Dean joined Evan's side, was almost in as much awe as Evan was at the absence of the water. "I hate friggin' ghosts that can manipulate nature," he bitterly spit out. Turning, he gave Evan a companionable pat on his chest, "Let's get out of here. Unless you're up for another swim?" he couldn't help taunt, enjoyed the way Evan's head snapped toward him.

"Yeah, no, not tonight. My hands get all pruny and my hair…it's just a mess in the morning, won't do a thing I want it to," Evan quickly replied, was already turning around and stalking for the door, nearly beat Hank outside, certainly beat his big brother down the stairs.

Giving the ballroom one more scowl, Dean turned around, found that Sam was standing in the entranceway, waiting for him. Without a word he went to Sam's side and together they left the Country Club house, matched strides down the stairs and onto the safety of the parking lot.

With the relief of being out of the Country Club, Evan began unleashing an excited rush of words, "Does it always happen like that? I mean the way he…he re-fleshed and then you two…kicking him into the flames..the way…"

"Yeah Ev, I don't think we need the blow by blow recap," Hank interrupted his brother's flow of words. Latching onto his brother's arm, he turned Evan to face him. "Hey, are you OK, were you hurt?" Seeing the flash of hesitation in his little brother's features he realized that Evan was contemplating keeping the truth from him, recognized that same reaction when he had grilled Evan about what Boris had to do with shark attacks. Tightening his grip and stepping closer to Evan, he said, "Evan, maybe you forgot but you swore you wouldn't keep an injury from me like Dean did to Sam. So you tell me right now if you're hurt."

Evan nearly squirmed under his brother's intense focus, gave a careless shrug of his shoulders. "I hit my head," raised his hand to rub the lump on the back of his head. But Hank was faster.

It wasn't hard for Hank to find the lump on the back of Evan's head, winced when Evan did as he lightly traced his fingers over the injury. "Is your vision blurry or are you seeing double? Do you have a headache? Any nausea?" Hank rapidly fired out the questions even as he inspected his brother's eyes.

"No. But I have seen a ghost. Yes. No," Evan gamely answered his brother's numerous questions, enjoyed the scowl of reprimand in his big brother's eyes. "I'm alright, doctor. And I'm not paying for this exam," he firmed stated, pointing a warning finger at Hank.

"You'll have to take that up with my CFO," Hank jokingly returned, the worry in his eyes fading to relief. Sliding his hand from Evan's head, he squeezed Evan's shoulder and smiled. Then turning around, intent on checking over the rest of Scooby Doo's crew, starting with Scrabby Doo, he found that Dean was already on that.

"You hurt?" Dean inquired, his hand lightly resting on Tucker's shoulder and his eyes holding concern as they held the teenager's.

"No. No," Tucker stammered, tried to instill strength in his second declaration. "I'm not hurt."

The look Dean bestowed on Tucker softened as did his tone. "Horace wasn't pulling any punches in there, if anyone knows that, it's me. So if you're hurt, you need to tell me."

"I'm not hurt," Tucker assured quietly as he unflinchingly met Dean's eyes. "Not even bruised. Thanks to you," his gratitude shinning through, for once not objecting to being protected. Not at all.

Dean's lips spread into a proud, relieved smile. "You did good for your first and last ghost hunt."

Tucker gave a shy smile and then bowed his head in a measure of shame at the obvious reprimand.

Ruffling Tucker's hair, Dean stepped back from the kid only to nearly run into Sam.

"What you told Tucker, same goes for you?" Sam quietly said, his eyes boring into Dean's as if Dean were the errant school boy. At Dean's raised eyebrow expression, he clarified, "You need to tell me how badly you're hurting."

"Nothing a hot shower, a bed and an ice pack won't cure," Dean lowly answered as he brushed by Sam's hovering figure intent on making a beeline for the Impala.

"You mean nothing an IV bag of antibiotics, a few stitches, pain medication of a decent strength and bed rest won't cure," Hank corrected, taking a stand between Dean and his getaway vehicle.

"Seriously, I got like one nerve left…" Dean warned. In truth, he wondered if he was too numb to realize if that last nerve had already snapped.

Instead of backing down at the threat in Dean's eyes, Hank stepped into Dean's personal space, "I'm not feeling real tolerant myself, what with a ghost trying to kill us all, a freak hurricane and a bullheaded patient who can't admit he's on his last leg…not nerve."

"Same thing," Dean smirked, wasn't in the mood to admit how close Hank's prediction was.

An unexpected mediator entered the fray.

"Dean," Tucker gently entreated as he reached out to grip the ghost hunter's bicep. He hesitated when he was instantly earned Dean's eye contact. "As far as doctors go, Hank's as good at his profession as you are yours." Encouraged when Dean rolled his eyes at his double edged praise instead of getting angry, he tagged on lightly, "And besides, I've tried to brush Hank off but he's like a pit bull, won't stand down until he gets what he wants."

"That I've figured out myself," Dean grudgingly admitted, his eyes shifting from Tucker's pleading expression to Hank's set features, could feel Sam at his back, knew which camp Sam was in: not his. "Fine, go get your little black bag," Dean conceded, waving a hand toward Hank's SAAB.

"No, follow us home. We have two guest bedrooms…"

"Now you want a sleepover?" Dean snapped, his pain quickly souring his humor for Hank's demands.

Evan interjected, "Trust me when I say our view and décor is way better than the Hamp Inn's. Hank will proved the drugs…"At Hank's glare, he qualified, "prescription of course, and I'll lay out a breakfast spread tomorrow like you've never seen before."

Clamping a hand on Dean's shoulder, Sam overrode Dean's reply. "Sounds too good to pass up."

"Sam," Dean hissed, turning to confront his brother but Sam's stubborn expression was even more fierce than Hank's.

Knowing when to leave a battle while a surrender was called, Hank prodded Evan and Tucker away from the Winchester brothers toward their respective cars. Then, biding Tucker goodnight, he invited the boy over to their place in the morning.

"Come on," Sam ordered, but his tone had slipped to gentle coddling as he carefully maneuvered Dean forward toward the Impala. He dropped his hold on his brother as they parted at the trunk of the '67 car. His head snapped up when Hank's sharp voice carried across the parking lot.

"You don't seriously think you should be driving?" Hank incredulously demanded, having stumbled to a stop at his own car door at the sight of Dean heading for the driver's side of his car.

Giving a dark laugh of frustration, Dean boasted, "I have driven in worst shape than this." And without offering up a further defense, Dean sank into the driver's seat of the Impala and slammed the door with force.

Meeting Hank's protesting look over the roof of the Impala, Sam meekly declared, "I have to pick my battles," before he claimed the passenger seat of the Impala.

Running a hand over his mouth, Hank glared at the black classic car before he got into his own car. "Patients like Dean Winchester are the reason every doctor over forty has grey hair," he grumbled and Evan smartly didn't put in his two cents.

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The Impala skidded to a stop as Dean slammed on the breaks. "Holy crap," the brothers exclaimed together at the sight of the mansion at the end of the long driveway. The castle put Tucker's glass house to utter shame. "Hank and Evan probably stay in a shack out back," Dean theorized but the look he shared with Sam said that neither one of them believed that as he put the car back into motion.

When Dean cut the Impala's engine, Sam couldn't help throw Dean a cocky smirk, "You were saying," as he jerked his head toward Hank and Evan's _shack_.

"We are so in the wrong business," Dean murmured as he leaned forward in the seat to get a better look at the guest house.

Sam gave a snort of laughter, "This the first time you realized that." He laughed harder when Dean punched him in the arm.

Opening the door for their guests, Evan greeted, "Mi casa es su casa. Or well, Boris's casa es su casa."

Having grabbed his and Dean's bags with their extra clothing from the trunk, Sam slipped by Evan and then whistled, "You are really suffering, spending time with your big brother."

"You know a little brother's duty is sometimes harsh but we must preserve it in the name of family," Evan smart-alecked back, grabbing one of the bags from Sam's shoulder and leading Sam upstairs.

Having stood outside and taken in the tennis courts, the pool and the big looming castle to the left, Dean shook his head. '_Wrong business_.' Entering the guest house and scoping out the interior, he shook his head again. "Totally wrong business," he lowly grumbled, spun on his heels as Hank trotted down the stairs, a larger black bag in hand than he had been toting the last two days Dean had seen him. "You give a new meaning to Pro Bono benefits" he teased, hands outstretched to take in the lavish surroundings.

For the first time, Hank blushed, felt ashamed of the lifestyle he had grown accustom to. "Dean…I…this…"

But Dean held up his hand, forestalled Hank's explanation. "I'm not begrudging it to you, just a bit…Ok a lot jealous. Is that a golf course on the far hill to the left?"

"Yeah but Boris made if off limits for Evan after he tore up the green trying to prefect his 'winning stroke'."

Dean smirked. He could picture that.

"Have a seat," Hank said, indicating his couch, purposefully made it sound like an invitation not a demand.

Eyeing up the leather couch, Dean looked down at himself, "Yeah, you don't want me to sit down. I'm still wet and salt water's really not kind to materials like leather. This Boris guy probably wouldn't like having to replace the couch."

"Worst thing Boris could do is kick us out," Hank nonchalantly revealed, like that consequence didn't matter compared to his desire to take care of Dean. "But you're right, I should have offered you the use of our shower. It's upstairs to the left and towels are in the closet in the hall."

Dean tilted his head at Hank's reaction, unaccustomed to someone putting themselves out for him.

"What?" Hank asked, couldn't interpret the expression in Dean's gaze.

Dean shrugged but it turned into a wince and a growled curse of annoyance as he bent over, curled his arm across his chest.

Crossing to Dean's side, Hank steadied the wounded man, felt encouraged when Dean recovered enough to raise his head and level a heated glare at him. "I've met a lot of stubborn people but you're taking the cake," he announced, beginning to lead Dean toward the stairs.

"My dad used to say either do your very best or don't bother trying," Dean retorted. But, giving into Hank's own stubbornness, he slid his arm around Hank's waist and let the doctor help him maneuver up the stairs.

"Funny, my dad told me to not do something myself that I could get someone else to do for me," Hank parried, gave a small sad smile at Dean's commiserating look. Fathers and sons, it was always a loaded mix of good and bad, of nurturing and scarring. Maybe that was why God gave out little brothers to some lucky few.

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This round, Dean wasn't stoic, he was whiny. "Ow! You cutting into me with my own knife hurt less than you stitching me up," he scornfully accused as he winced away from Hank's ministrations.

"That's because your body was shutting down..in layman's terms…you were dying," Hank bluntly pointed out but when he turned to get another instrument off the table, he winked at Sam.

Instantly Sam's panicked features softened into a smirk, realized that Hank was purposefully baiting Dean to distract his brother from the painful procedure. Because, as bad as Dean's bloody torso looked, it wasn't cause for a hospital trip. Dean's mottled colored back, though it was painfully bruised, it wasn't hiding internal injuries…this time. And Dean's ill humor wasn't a symptom of a concussion but of exhaustion and lingering pain even after the pain meds Hank had forced Dean to take. Pain meds that were going to knock Dean out for hours when they took affect, which might not be quick enough if the look in Dean's eyes were any indication.

"So I was thinking…" Evan began, earning him the attention of his brother and both Winchesters. "You really …_really_ need to get paid to do what you two do. And I can help with that. I've been structuring some price modules for you. You know, ghosts that toss things around, throw a harmless but destructive tantrum can be one price and homicidal ghosts like Horace, well, that range can vary dependent on the severity of its actions. And if you sustain an injury, we go into a whole other bracket of fees. Hospitalization, medications…."

"Sammy's the brains in our partnership, show him your modules," Dean broke into Evan's spiel, patting Sam on the knee and nodding his head toward the computer on the far side of the guest house's first floor.

Recognizing Dean's desire to distract him, Sam scowled a moment before he turned to Evan. "Yeah, can't hurt to hear your ideas."

"Really?" Evan nearly squeaked in surprise. "I mean they are rough numbers and I don't know the other….things you hunt," he stammered even as he got up, eagerly made his way toward his computer.

Sam followed on Evan's heals …but only after Dean gave him a reassuring nod, promised, with a look, to let Hank patch him up.

Alone with Hank, Dean watched the doctor work in silence. "What is it?" he prodded quietly, received Hank's troubled eye contact but not a verbal reponse. "I feel a lecture coming on."

"No lecture," Hank shortly replied, leaned closer to tie up the last stitch.

"Sammy does that too, the brooding silence. I always wear him down, so what is it?"

Setting down the needle, Hank dropped his eyes to his hands resting on his knees, struggled internally on whether or not he should let his feelings go unsaid. But he couldn't, it wasn't his nature to let someone hurt themselves, knowingly or unknowing. Raising his eyes to Dean, he exhaled and then plunged forward. "No money, no job references, no _gratitude._ Nearly getting yourself killed, _Sam_ could have died.How do you keep doing this? Why?"

Unprepared for the straightforward inquiry, Dean looked away for a moment, knew that a deflection would not work on Hank. When he met Hank's eyes a moment later, there was no misgiving lurking in Dean's eyes. "It's what I know. What I'm good at…most of the time," he depreciated, knowing his current physical state wasn't the best proof of his professionalism. Hank didn't protest his claim, seemed to be waiting for more. Dean cleared his throat, hated that he was getting choked up. "People, they might not know what Sam and I have done, but they are safer because of it."

"And that's enough? That's worth…everything you risk?" Hank asked, not with censor but awe, knew the answer already, had come to know Dean and Sam enough to know the answer each brother would give, collectively and separately. Hank shook his head, "I…I've been selfish…most of my life. I mean I _care_ about saving, healing people…but I also cared about money, about my ego, and Evan…he didn't fit into the new life I was building for myself. If things hadn't fallen apart in New York…." Hank broke off, felt a lump lodge in his throat. "Wherever I would be right now, Evan wouldn't be with me. I wouldn't be doing _anything_ Pro Bono."

"On the bright side, you wouldn't have almost been killed by a ghost," Dean pointed out, slipping humor into the opening he saw.

"No, I guess not," Hank laughingly agreed before he sobered. "The relationship you and Sam have, no matter what came before, it's incredibility strong, Dean. And I hope Evan and I can get there."

"Watch what you wish for," Dean darkly predicted. "You're seeing Sam and I on one of our good days."

"Good days?" Hank scoffed. "You almost died, you faced off with a ghost, you had three novices screwing up your job…"

Dean smiled broadly. "Yeah, and that's one of our _good _days."

Hank laughed out loud.

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"Evan," Sam gently broke into Evan's explanation about how they could set up a credit card payment plan for their clients, "you know we're not going to get paid, not for what we do."

Exhaling, Evan nodded, knew that it was just wishful thinking, nervous ramblings. "Doesn't mean you shouldn't."

"Hank should too," Sam countered, a thumb gesturing back to the doctor.

"I was scared. Really scared," Evan confessed out of the blue.

Sam was about to say something comforting about meeting a ghost was _supposed_ to be scary but Evan's next works derailed his response, made him realize that they weren't talking about the same thing.

"Hank…he's always been the responsible one. And I've been…well, the little brother. But tonight, with Dean…he needed me and I knew you were counting on me to save Dean if I could. And I didn't want to fail you, either of you." Evan nervously ran his hand through his hair, "I don't see how Hank does it, having people's _lives_ in his hands."

"But you did save Dean, just you. And if anyone knows what it's like to be in big brother's huge shadow, it's me. Dean's the leader, Dean's been my protector…my whole life and when things get turned around, when I have to lead, when I need to protect him….I'm more than scared Evan. I'm terrified."

"They make it look so easy, like it comes naturally," Evan snapped back but a smile was turning up his lips.

"Yeeaahhh, tell me about it. Fakers, both of them," Sam agreed, his own smile making an appearance.

"Being the youngest, it's not the worst fate," Evan lightly stated.

"No, not at all," Sam readily concurred. "So, I'm dying to know, how did you two land in this guest home suitable for a rich playboy?"

"Oh, Sam, it's a wonderful tale with a very happy ending," Evan drawled before he began his tale with his more than willing audience of one.

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"My compliments to the chef," Dean saluted Evan as he got up from the table where he had consumed every morsel of the bountiful breakfast the Lawsons had laid out for the Winchesters and Tucker. "Guess Sammy and I should hit the road," he drawled as Sam climbed to his feet, stood at his side. But he couldn't help feel a little spike of sorrow at leaving, of maybe never seeing the two brothers who were so much like he and Sam again.

"You should stay another two nights, let your body heal up," Hank refuted, was still toting the same logic he had since Sam and Dean had come down the stairs that morning, their bags slung over Sam's shoulder.

"I'll heal up on the road, like I always do," Dean assured, knew that, as hard as it was to leave, if he and Sam stayed longer it would only get harder, would give them a teasing taste of what their lives could have been but would never be.

"But you're going to come back, visit, right?" Tucker asked from beside Dean, was looking at the Winchesters with a tinge of hero worship still in his eyes.

Dean wasn't a liar. Ok, he _was_ but only in the line of duty…never to friends, to the ones he cared about. And he cared about Tucker, about Evan and about Hank. And he wasn't going to stand there and lie to them.

"Sure…maybe we can…" Sam began, was too kindhearted to shoot down the hope in Tucker's eyes.

"Sam and I would like to but…chances are, we won't," Dean cut off Sam's fairytale, not with harshness but with solemn regret. Meeting Tucker's hurt expression, he explained, "Doing what we do means we're on the road 365 days a year, that taking a vacation…it just doesn't happen. Not unless one of us is out of commission."  
"I understand," Tucker muttered and headed for the door. After all, he had heard the speech before, how busy his dad was, how important what he did was, how it was always more important than he was. But Dean stepped into his path in the driveway before he reached his Ferrari.

"Yeah, I don't think you do understand," Dean gently stated, his eyes meeting the teenager's. "You almost got killed because we showed up on your doorstep, got you involved in our job. I won't risk your life again, not yours or Hank's or Evan's. And that best way I can do that…it to stay away from you. It's not the way I want things but it's the way things have to be."

"My dad thinks the same thing, that if he stays away from me, doesn't touch me he can keep me safe," Tucker fired back, was again cursing the notion that everyone's idea of protecting him was to leave him, to stay away from him.

"My dad thought the same thing," Dean admitted, saw the surprise in Tucker's eyes. "He was off hunting things my whole childhood, protecting me and Sam from things we didn't even know existed. And when he was around…he put us on lockdown, restricted us from doing anything he thought would put us in danger. And I …I didn't rebel, I did everything, _everything_ he asked me to, thinking that…if I didn't, he might decide not to come home." Seeing the effect his words had on Tucker, Dean rested a hand on Tucker's shoulder, "Your father loves you, just like my father loved me but having someone like Hank around that cares for you, that's there when your dad isn't, that's a real gift too. I know because I had someone like him looking out for me and Sammy."

Tucker nodded, his eyes shimmering. "I don't know how I would have survived this summer without Hank, literally, since he saved my life."

Dean chuckled, "Yeah, me too. Guess it wouldn't hurt for us to show a little gratitude."

"Sure it wouldn't be too unmanly?" Tucker joked back.

"For studs like us, we can openly weep and it'll only bring the women flocking to us," Dean boasted, enjoyed the happiness that was gleaming in Tucker's eyes. Releasing the boy's shoulder, he nodded his head and watched Tucker head back inside before he followed.

When Tucker re-entered the room, his mood transformed, Sam smiled, knew his brother had worked his magic on the boy. And he was wearing a goofy expression of brotherly adoration when Dean strolled back inside and met his eyes.

Giving an eye roll to Sam and a visual order to "stop being such a girl" Dean crossed over to Evan and Hank, was almost instantly joined by Sam.

"This has been the craziest experience of my life," Evan announced.

"But in a good way, right?" Dean replied, with a twinkle in his eyes as he reached out, shook Evan's hand.

"Absolutely," Hank sarcastically answered. "Best days of my life," but there was warmth in his gaze and in the grip he had on Dean's hand. "You need anything, a doctor, a guy to carry your shotgun, a place to crash for a night or a month…you call us."

Dean nodded and then he stepped away, let Sam to his goodbyes.

Shaking Evan's hand, Sam said, "If we change our minds about charging people, I'll call you for your modules."

"I won't hold my breath," Evan returned, smile in place. "You take care of your big brother and I'll take care of mine."

"Sure, give me the easy task," Sam good naturedly grumbled and then Evan stepped away, left him alone with Hank.

For a beat, Sam hesitated, wasn't sure of his footing with Hank. But it was Hank who put out his hand, initiated the hand shake and Sam readily took up the peace offering. "I know you think I put Dean in danger by letting him go into that club and you're right…"

"And I know there was no way you were stopping him, Sam," Hank interjected, his conversation with Dean the prior night cementing the truth in his head. "Dean does what he thinks is right, no matter the risks. You did the only thing you could to protect him, you went with him."

Sam tilted his head in confusion. "Why the change of heart? Yesterday you were chewing me out and today you're ….all mr. understanding."

"Yesterday I dragged my _own_ brother into danger, did it because it felt right…us being together. I get why you didn't go alone, why Dean wouldn't let you go alone. That you couldn't wait a few days until Dean was better, not when lives were at stake."

Sam nodded but swallowed hard, "If you think it was easy…."

"I don't," Hank bluntly reassured, knew the fear that nearly consumed Sam when they both thought Dean had drown. "But I've come to realize that, sometimes doing the right thing means you have to risk everything you care about." Because when he saved that boy's life in New York, he had done the right thing and had unknowingly put everything he valued on the line.

Sam's eyes glimmered as he nodded, "Yeah, sometimes doing the right thing is overrated."

"Well then it's a good thing that Dean and I have little brothers to come save us when doing the right thing costs us too much," Hank said, smiled, knew that doing the right thing, saving that boy's life, it hadn't condemned him, had instead saved him. Had saved his brotherhood with Evan, had saved him from a life without much meaning, had taught him the merit of Pro Bono work, of helping others, not just because they needed it, but because he _could_ help them.

"Sam, today would be nice," Dean lightly huffed from his position by the door, antsy to be on the road, to say his goodbyes and slip into the comfort zone of the Impala.

Smiling at his brother's impatience, Sam called, "Coming Dean." Winking in wry acknowledgement at Hank's words, he gave a wave to Evan and Tucker. Watching Dean give his own nod of goodbye, he followed Dean out the door.

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"I never thanked you, not really," Hank broke the silence at the dinner table, looked up to meet Evan's surprised expression. "For bringing me here, for standing by me when everyone else was jumping ship like I was the Titanic. After I didn't return your calls, didn't have you over for Thanksgiving or Christmas…you had ever right to call me up and gloat, tell me it was only what I deserved for being such a ….  
"Goober," Evan supplied, humor in his tone instead of anger.

"Yeah, more than that. Why didn't you? I mean besides you would never lower yourself to gloating," Hank asked with lightheartedness but there was an earnest need in his gaze.

"Because, no matter what trouble I got myself into, you never gloated, never left me high and dry. Not once. Guess some of your good traits rubbed off on me."

"I saw you the last few days, how considerate you were with Sam when he was worried about Dean's surgery, the way you helped Dean yesterday. Maybe some of your good traits rubbed off on me, ever think of that?"

"Ah…" Evan contemplated a moment, "Nope. Maybe we both got influenced by Nanny Heather."

"Ev, she was there a week when you were what, twelve?"

"But what an impression she made on me. The sweaters she wore, the way she poured my cereal."

Hank threw a spaghetti noodle at Evan, which landed on Evan's shirt front. "You're hopeless."

"Hopelessly original, you mean. So, let's make a pact, the next client that mentions old country clubs, research that they need to do from years ago or say, a ghost, let's just drop them off at the hospital, no questions asked."

"Hey, you're the one that insisted on following Dean to the hospital," Hank pointed out.

"I got sentimental, it wouldn't happen again," Evan vowed but he was fighting down a smile.

"Sure, it won't. You're so cold hearted, that's why you saved Dean's life."

"Solely an act of self preservation. Sam would have killed me if I let Dean die."

"Yeah, and I threatened Sam when he said he got split up from you."

"No you didn't. Sam, seven foot, muscle brimming, gun carrying Sam. You threatened him?" Evan incredulously said.

Hank shrugged, "Well yeah, he was messing with my CFO. They aren't so easy to replace."

"Oh, you're going to pay for that…" Evan vowed as he pointed his fork at his laughing brother. "When you least expect it, I will have my revenge."

"Bring it on little brother, bring it on. After all, I taught you everything you know."

"Did not," Evan refuted, already plotting his retaliation, wondering if it was fair game to call Sam up for pointers on besting big brothers, because, after all, little brothers had to stick together..

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"So…" Sam began, let that hang in the air of the Impala until Dean faced him from the passenger seat. "What's next? A werewolf in New Hampshire, a goblin in North Carolina?"

"I was thinking of maybe stopping at Bobby's," Dean suggested almost timidly.

Worry spiked in Sam, had him looking to Dean in alarm. "You're feeling that badly?" Because lately, Bobby's had been only a weigh station when the worst stuff was hitting them, was where they went when they were too weary to drive another mile down the road, when they had to lick their wounds. "We can find a motel, stay holed up as long as it takes until you feel up to hunting."

"I'm fine Sam I just thought…" Dean reassured but there was still unease in his tone.

"Thought what?" Sam gently prodded.

Meeting Sam's gaze, letting down his guard, he admitted, "Just we haven't seen him much lately."

"Ok," Sam drawled out, knowing there was more to Dean's urges than he was saying.

"I don't know, talking to Tucker, remembering how much Dad was gone…how many times Bobby was there for us, then and now. I guess I want to tell him thanks…that I appreciated it, appreciate him."

"He'll think you're possessed, you know that right? He'll try exorcising you, right under the devil's trap," Sam only half joked.

"Shut up," Dean muttered but he couldn't help smiling. "He will, won't he."

"Ah, yeah, definitely."

"So maybe I go into it a little more low key," Dean suggested and he got out his phone, hit a speed dial number and smiled cockily at Sam.

"Hey, Bobby its Dean."

"~~~"

"Why do you always assume we got ourselves into trouble?" Dean put umbrage into his tone but he wagged his eyebrows at Sam as Bobby played right into his hands.

"~~~"

"Would it put you out if we stopped in, stayed a night or two."

Bobby's grumbled return of outrage Sam could hear clearly through the cell phone, "You idjit? Put me out? You gotta ask? Stop talking stupid and get your butts to my place."

Shutting his cellphone, Dean turned to Sam. "Yeah, he's Mr. Sensitivity," he sarcastically said, but he couldn't help wonder how Bobby would have really reacted if he had said something as simple as thank you.

"You'll get your chance," Sam quietly stated as if he knew what was running through his big brother's head. And maybe he did.

And Sam's kindness, his kid brother's decision to side with him, even after all the crap they had gone through lately, had Dean nervously clearing his throat and vowing to be truthful with Sam. "Sam, about last night, I put you at risk, put everyone at risk hunting when I wasn't at 100%. You have every right to be mad at me, to want to ditch me again…"

"What?" Sam exclaimed incredulously, anger tingeing his outburst. "You think I want to bail on you?"  
"I would understand…"

"No, apparently you don't," Sam shot back, eyes tracking from road to brother back to road. "When I left before it wasn't about me not trusting you, it was about me not trusting me, about keeping you safe…from me. And my going with you last night to the club, it was about having your back more than it was about stopping the ghost from hurting people I've never even met." Seeing the surprise in Dean's eyes, he stammered, hoped he hadn't ruined his brother's image of him, "I mean, yes, helping people, it's what we do, and it matters. A lot. But we're in this together, Dean, from here on out. And that means where you go I go, that whatever hunt we're on, we face the things together. All we have is each other and you promised me I wouldn't lose you and I'm holding you to that."

Dean raised his hands, "I'm not trying to renege, Sammy. I just…didn't mean to put you in more danger."

"But you told me as a kid that danger was our middle name," Sam taunted, happily watched as a slow smile pulled up one side of Dean's mouth and then the other. "You weren't lying, not to your kid brother who idolized you, were you?"

"Idolized?" Dean snorted, "More like terrorized," but there was joy glittering from his eyes as they met Sam's joy filled eyes.

Suddenly Dean realized that the bond he and Sam shared, it wasn't in fear of shattering like he thought it was. No, instead the recent gale winds that they had faced side by side had only caused it to grow stronger. It had him believing, for the first time, that there was a good chance that, just maybe, if they stood shoulder to shoulder, it would prove strong enough to endure the storm ahead, would prove that his father's dark prediction was wrong, in a thousands ways. Because John Winchester had forgotten one important factor: He and Sam, they were _brothers_ and no one and nothing was going to undo that.

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The End

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Thank you so much to everyone who gave me encouraging reviews throughout this story, to everyone who took a chance and read this crossover! I was able to finally complete this story because of your loyalty.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.

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